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College, then a career, marriage, and after several comfortable years, maybe children could enter the picture. You were, after all, eighteen, and the prospect of kids had felt astronomically far away.

(Isn’t life funny sometimes?)

Then the car crash happened.

You don’t remember much of it—bits here, pieces there, some flashes if you thought hard enough that it makes your head hurt—just that one moment you were in the backseat of your family’s car, buckled in and drifting to sleep, and in the next, you were staring up at the ceiling of Hawkins Memorial.

You had survived with some broken bones and a nasty concussion. 

Your family did not.

You were eighteen and alone, having graduated high school only a few weeks prior. And between all of the injuries that you’d sustained (it wasn’t as though dorm halls were exactly wheelchair accessible) and the sudden lack of family to help pay for tuition, you were forced to drop out of college. Your days were instead spent planning funerals from a hospital bed, handling lawyers and life insurance and inheritance. You threw yourself into physical therapy and, once your leg healed, forced yourself into a car, refusing to let yourself vomit from the anxiety of being behind a wheel once more.

You survived it all, and you came out a stronger person on top.

Different, maybe, but stronger.

And throughout it all—through the long hours in the hospital and longer hours rebuilding your strength—was your boyfriend, Mark Lewinsky.

Mark was sweet. Mark was kind. He filled your recovery room with flowers, and once you were discharged, his parents allowed you to stay at their house as you recovered.

But Mark also had a life outside of yours completely crashing down around you, and in August of ’85, he swept off to Purdue without a glance backwards.

The two of you went long distance, with the onus on you to make the hour and a half drive to Lafayette to visit.

And life moved on. Injuries healed, you moved back into your family’s home, and your days were spent with sorting through their belongings, figuring out which items you wanted to keep and which items would be better loved in another home.

Mark called often. Of course he called often! He was your boyfriend, the love of your life, and was even starting to talk about rings and weddings and marriage, and even if your life hasn’t gone the way that you thought it should, at least you could still have the other parts, right?

It was just as things were starting to feel normal again, that you were settling into your new existence, that the earthquake happened.

Mark spent the summer of ’86 bouncing between his parents’ house and your place, filling out the copious amounts of paperwork that the military required for him to be released to go back go college, and before you could wrap your head around it, he was gone.

He was gone, and you were left in this new, strange world by yourself. No Mark, no family, no friends.

Alone.

And it was fine. It was fine.

It was fine up until the military doctor informed you, during one of the mandatory checkups, that you were pregnant.

And then, suddenly, everything wasn’t fine, because it was October of 1986, the military was breathing down everyone’s necks, and you were scared and pregnant and alone and all Mark could say over the phone was, “Babe, are you even sure that it’s mine?”

You seethed. Of course you seethed—you were faithful! You’d been nothing but faithful for two years! You hadn’t even looked at another man, not since Mark asked you out during your senior year! And now you were pregnant with his baby, stuck in a nightmare scenario, he changed his phone number, his parents had moved from town, and you were alone.

Mark, clearly, did not care.

In fact, he didn’t really seem to care until long after you gave birth, not until your daughter, Mia, was nearly two, and he came skipping back into Hawkins after he graduated college, demanding a paternity test.

He demanded a lot of things, really, that you were too exhausted to fight him on. Not with the money behind the Lewinsky name. Not with the way you hadn’t slept for a full night since giving birth. Not with living through a military occupation, abandoned and scared, with a baby who depended on you for everything. 

So you got the test done, and wouldn’t you know it? Mark Lewinsky was, in fact, the father. Except Mark Lewinsky was no longer your boyfriend, and he had a nice, new woman at his side with a nice, new shiny ring on her finger and a nice, new lawyer to demand shared custody.

The only thing you refused to budge on was changing Mia’s last name from yours to Mark’s. You were, after all, the person that carried her in your body, the only parent she knew for the first two years of her life, and you were the one she cried for after nightmares. You were the one that snuggled up next to after you rented Cinderella from Family Video for the umpteenth time and you knew exactly how she liked her pancakes made. 

She was yours in every way that mattered and nothing was going to change that.

And before you knew it, years passed, and Mia grew faster than you could keep up with. She developed thoughts and feelings and opinions—god, so many opinions that it makes you laugh—and, suddenly, an interest in sports.

(You’re not quite sure where that one came from, seeing as Mark’s athletic prowess had been comical at best and you were too busy in high school with other extracurriculars to even try.)

Which is how you find yourself here, the early June sun beating down on your neck, at Hawkins Middle School with an excitable Mia clutching your hand, surrounded by the newly formed Hawkins Little League Softball Team.

A team that had been spearheaded by none other than Steve Harrington, a familiar face that you hadn’t seen in a long, long time.

Shock spreads across your body at the sight of him jogging towards your ragtag group, and the first thought that crosses your mind is that he looks good. Better than he did in high school, back when the two of you spent a summer fooling around with one another like there was nothing better to do with your time. His hair is a bit shorter than it was back then, a little less styled with the tips curling from humidity, and a white shirt already drenched with sweat sticks to his chest.

Your throat goes dry at the sight of what should be considered indecently short athletic shorts and hairy legs stopping in front of the crowd, and not for the first time, you find yourself regretting that the two of you drifted apart once Mark became a more stable presence in your life.

(Were you ever really friends? You’re not sure, but you gave a piece of yourself to him that summer, and you’ve never once regretted giving it away.)

You rip your gaze away from his legs, tracing the line up his body—which is both so similar and so different from your memory—and find that he’s smiling sunnily at you, recognition crossing his face.

And then, he greets the kids and practice is started.

You make yourself way to the stands with the other parents, watching with no small amount of amusement as Steve corrals a gaggle of five year olds who want to do nothing more than sprint in dizzying circles around him. He takes it all in stride, however, and you find yourself impressed at the everlasting patience he has for the girls with no attention span. 

It would be a lot for any person to handle, you think, but somehow, Steve has a knack for getting the kids to listen to his instructions.

The first practice goes fine. Great, even, for a bunch of hyperactive, uncoordinated give year olds. And even though there isn’t a single kind who actually manages to hit the ball with the stupidly expensive softball bats, but afterwards, Steve gives each and every girl a high five, tells them that he’s proud of them, and reminds them all to drink plenty of water once they get home.

You watch Mia bound over to you, her twin braids flying as she yells, “Did you see? Did you see?”

“I saw!” you laugh, catching the bundle of energy in your arms as she babbles on excitedly about how much fun she had and how much she can’t wait for the next practice.

Your heart sinks, because despite how uncomfortable the metal bench was, you really enjoyed watching her tumble her way across the field. But… the next practice is next week, Mark’s week, and he was already reticent to pay for half of the fees. Would he even stay to watch? Would his wife—a lovely woman in her own right—stay to watch? Will there be anyone to cheer Mia on as she runs in circles? You’re not sure, and it makes your chest hurt to think about that.

Before you can dwell on it too long, though, a shadow crosses over the two of you, and you look up, up, up, to find Steve Harrington in all of his sweaty glory, your name dripping from his lips, and he asks, “Hey! It’s been awhile. How are you doing?

“I’m good,” you say at the same time that Mia, a clingy child on the best of days, does her best to burrow her way into your skin. “I was actually a little surprised to see you here. Didn’t know that you were moonlighting as a coach now, but it looks good on you.”

“Yeah?” he says, a little bashful as he pushes the hair from his eyes. “I coach the baseball little league, too, and was kind of annoyed that the girls didn’t have their own sport, so… yeah. Anyway, is this your niece?”

You open your mouth, ready to respond, but it’s in this moment that Mia chooses to peel herself from your arms and beat you to the punch.

“Uh, this is my mom, Coach Steve. Duh.”

“Mia!” you scold. “God, Steve, I’m so sorry, she’s a little—I mean—”

A booming laugh cuts you off. You watch, stunned, as his head tilts back, the evening sun catching on the column of his throat, the corners of his eyes crinkling from the force of his mirth. Everything about him screams All American Boy as the delight spills from him, and a knot in your chest that you didn’t even know was there eases.

“You’re right, Mia,” he says, holding a hand out to her as a peace offering. “I should’ve known better. Will you ever forgive me?”

Mia sniffs imperiously, eyes him a little warily, but clearly decides that he passes some invisible test when she places her little hand in his large palm. “I guess.”

You take this moment to pry her from your lap, instructing, “Go get a snack from the car, sweets. I’m going to talk to Steve real quick.”

She grumbles something under her breath, shooting you a sour look, but does as told, scampering towards your old sedan.

“So…” Steve starts, hands placed firmly on his hips and his gaze firmly trained on your daughter, as though he’s making sure that she doesn’t run into any trouble in the perilous twenty foot distance between you and her. “Daughter?”

“Long story,” you offer.

He raises an eyebrow. “Is it?”

You pause, thinking, and realize dimly, Oh, he should know. Especially if Mark drops her off next week. “Well… no, actually.”

You give Steve the abbreviated version—as abbreviated as it can be, anyway, for a tale that is both short and rather uninteresting. Knocked up at nineteen, gave birth at twenty, share custody with her father, Mark Lewinsky, so he’ll be the one at practice next week.

If possible, Steve’s brows raise higher at the mention of Mark. 

“The bench warmer?” he asks, then flushes as if he wasn’t supposed to say that.

But it’s your turn to laugh. “Yeah, him.” Glancing to make sure that your daughter is still out of earshot, you add, “Wouldn’t have been my first choice in fathers, but I got Mia out of it, so… Worth it, in the end.”

“She’s a good kid,” Steve says. “Picked up on what to do faster than the other kids. And I’m not just saying that to, like, stroke your ego or anything. She’s smart.”

“Yeah,” you smile. “She is, isn’t she?”

Life persists and summer continues to grow, the heat swells until it presses into every corner of your life, and the humidity wraps itself around you like a second skin. 

As always, Mia is at your house one week, goes to her dad’s the next, and inevitably she returns with her light a little dimmed and a trembling smile on her face, climbing into your bed every Sunday night after her dad drops her off.

(It breaks your heart, but what can you do? It’s not like they’re mistreating her or anything. She just doesn’t like going out over to Mark’s house, especially not since Mark’s wife announced her own pregnancy.)

And, against all odds, Mia sticks with softball, throwing her tiny little body into practice and drills. She takes to spending every evening with her bat in the backyard, swinging it around wildly as she asks, “Do you think Coach Steve can tell that I’m doing this?”

“Of course,” you reply amiably from your spot on the deck, a book propped open on the table next to you. “Coach Steve is very smart, you know.”

She preens under the thought of praise, and you heart clenches with gratitude that you get to be her mother.

Practices get bumped up to twice a week, too, meaning that every other week, on Tuesdays and Thursdays, your evenings are spent in the stands at your old middle school, watching your daughter flail across the field with the grace of a newborn kitten.

There’s a certain amount of affection that wells up in your chest whenever you watch Steve interact with her. He corrects her with a gentle efficiency, lifting her elbow into place, showing her how to stand. It’s hard not to notice just how much she blossoms under his roaring cheers from across the field when she manages to hit the ball, her little legs pumping as she sprints to home base. 

And then—faster than you can process it—she slides her way to the home plate. Tries to slide her way to the home plate, and it’s immediately evident that it completely went wrong when a shrill cry pierces the air. Your blood freezes, and in the next second, Steve’s at her side before you can even stand, scooping her sobbing form up. His big hand settles on her small back as he jogs towards the first aid kit. 

You scramble from the stands, forcing your way through the other parents, and as you make your way closer, you hear him say, “I bet it hurts a lot, Mia, but it’ll be okay. See? It’s just a little cut, don’t worry.”

“But—but—” Her lower lip wobbles, fat tears falling from her eyes. “What if I can’t run anymore?”

If this shocks Steve, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he reaches out gently, dragging a thumb across her cheek as he wipes the tears away, promising in a soft voice, “You’ll be able to run again, I promise. You think a little scrape can prevent that? Come on, Mia, you’re a strong girl. You can do anything you want.”

Your heart melts at the assurance as you slip onto the bench next to her, tucking Mia into your side as he finishes cleaning and bandaging her skinned knees, saying, “There, all done. Look! No more blood. How about you sit here with your mom for a bit, okay? If it hurts a little less, you can come back out, but no worries if not.”

She nods, presses her face into your shirt, and Steve offers you a soft smile before turning his attention back to the rest of the team.

You offer her soothing words and squeezes, smoothing a hand down her back throughout the rest of practice, trying desperately to ignore the way your stomach flips at the mental image of her coddled against Steve’s chest.

It’s inappropriate, you think, to feel so electrified after seeing how kind his is with your daughter.

(But is it really your fault? You’ve seen Mark with her when she’s injured, the way he tends to hand Mia off to his wife when all she needs is a hug, a kiss to the forehead, and an assurance that all will be well. Because Mark is awkward and never quite adapted to fatherhood, and Steve—)

(Steve just seems so naturally step into that role, even for kids that aren’t his own.)

After practice, you stay sitting on the bench, watching as the rest of the team disappears in the parking lot and drives off. It’s only once the last family has left that Steve makes his way back over to the two of you, checks on Mia’s knees and opens his arms up. “Will you ever forgive me, Mia?”

She giggles and throws herself at him, wrapping herself tight around his neck as she buries her face into the crook of his neck.

“I guess,” she says in a way that you know, from experience, means yes. 

Your throat tightens at the sight, trying to remember the last time you’d seen her actual father treating her with so much tenderness.

Steve’s eyes, warm and brown, meet yours, and he asks, “Can I make this up to you? Both of you? There’s a new diner nearby that’s supposed to be good, and it’ll be my treat. I should’ve shown Mia how to safely slide before she ever attempted it, and…”

“Oh, Steve,” you say. “You really don’t have to.”

“I want to,” he says firmly. “Please?”

“Please, Mom?” comes your daughter’s muffled voice.

You glance down at Mia, at her face still filled with baby fat tucked into his shirt, and find yourself nodding. “As long as Mia wants to, I’m fine with it.”

The smile Steve sends you is blinding.

He leads the two of you towards his car, having insisted on driving, with Mia held close to his chest after she demanded that he carry her as payment—where she learned that phrase, you’re not quite sure—and you find yourself shocked to find a silvery blue pickup in place of a maroon BMW, and you blurt out, “You got rid of the Beamer?”

Steve pauses where he’s opening the passenger door, glancing back at you with something unreadable on his face. Carefully, with a tinge of sadness in his voice, he says, “Figured that it was time for something better.”

“Still, we had some good memories in that car,” you say without thinking.

Steve coughs.

You freeze, face burning.

“Oh my god,” you say. “I’m so sorry, that just—”

“It’s fine,” he wheezes, his cheeks turning a rosy red. “Can’t say you’re wrong, can I?”

And Mia, ever the nosy child, finally puts two and two together. “Mom, did you know Coach Steve before softball?”

“I did, sweets,” you say. “We were friends in school.”

(Which isn’t exactly the truth, but, well, you’re not exactly about to tell your five year old that you and Steve hooked up between relationships, are you?)

“Your mom was the prettiest girl in our grade,” Steve whispers conspiratorially, easing Mia onto the bench seat and nudging her towards the center.

“Mom’s the prettiest girl now,” Mia asserts.

“You’re right,” he seriously replies. Then, as your brain struggles to catch up with the conversation, he turns to you with a hand held out, saying, “Alright, Prettiest Girl, let me help you in.”

Your face feels hot as you slip your hand into his, an electric shock racing up your arm at the contact. His palms are warm and calloused, assured in the way he grips your fingers as his other hand settles on your lower back, helping you up into the passenger seat.

He lingers for a moment, peering up at you, the setting sun making his eyes appear more honey than brown, and he says, “Not so bad, is it? Not as nice as the Beamer, but she’s a sturdy gal.”

And for a moment, you’re sixteen years old again, having your chin tilted up by Steve Harrington at Mayor Kline’s 1983 Fourth of July bash, his chapped lips brushing against yours at the peak of the Ferris wheel. You’re sixteen, and your biggest worry is whether or not your friends will believe you when you say that King Steve kissed you, and his hands are warm and steady on your waist as you wind your arms around his neck, his voice hoarse as he whispers, “God, you’re beautiful.”

You blink, and you’re twenty-five once more, with Steve Harrington—who has long since fallen from his throne—giving you a shy smile as his hand slips from your back, and for a moment you have the delirious thought that he still sees you as you, not the role you’ve filled for the past five years. He sees you as the teenager you once were, stealing kisses in the summer sun, making the windows of his Beamer fog up. He sees the person who once stole seven of his shirts in one night—shirts that still sit in your closet—and the person who once snorted lemonade out of your nose in his backyard.

And then your daughter shifts next to you, clearly antsy, and his gaze dips down to her, reminding you of the person you are now, before meeting your eyes once more.

As if he can sense your thoughts, he quietly asks, “You alright?”

You force yourself to nod, saying, “Yeah, of course. Just, uh, hungry.”

Because if you don’t, you’re going to ask him, Do you still see me as me? Or do you only see me as a mother like everyone else does?

(You’re not sure if you could handle the answer, no matter what it is.)

The drive to the diner is filled with endless chatter from your daughter as she fills Steve in on how she’s starting kindergarten in the fall, every thought and excitement and fear she has pouring from her body, and you watch. You watch the way his fingers curl around the steering wheel, you watch the way he leans over to ruffle Mia’s hair. You listen to the low, soothing timbre of his voice when he assures her that kindergarten isn’t hard, that she’ll have no problem making friends, that she’ll be okay no matter what. 

And for a moment—

For a moment, you wonder if this is what your life could’ve looked like, in another universe.

But you don’t let yourself dwell on that long, because in another universe, Mia wouldn’t be your daughter, and the thought of that makes your chest crack wide open from pain.

Steve helps the two of you out of the truck, doesn’t comment when Mia grabs his hand as well as yours, and holds the door open to the restaurant, ushering you both in and settling you into a corner booth.

Mia orders a stack of waffles—and you note the anguish that flashes across Steve’s face when she announces this to the waitress, wondering but not asking—and you order a sandwich, cautious of not spending too much despite his insistence to not worry about it.

It’s… it’s fun. It’s fun in a way you haven’t felt in a long time, a burden that you didn’t know was there easing from your bones. 

Steve, clearly, is phenomenal with kids, never flinching when Mia’s voice gets too loud or her stories too rambley. He meets her at her level like it’s the most natural thing to do, and you know from experience that it’s not. She’s a precocious child, too smart for her age and always getting into something, and it’s a common complaint you’ve heard from her father when he drops her off at your house. That she isn’t always controllable, as if it’s a crime to let a child roam free, as if a child is meant to be controlled.

(You can’t think about that one without righteous indignation burning through your veins.)

And when the food arrives, he waves you away when you move to cut up Mia’s waffles, saying, “I got it, just enjoy your meal.”

You think that you could cry.

Dinner passes without incident, and you’re nowhere close to surprised when Mia nods off onto your arm, her snores filling the space between you and Steve. He huffs out a quiet, affectionate laugh, goes to pay the bill, and when he comes back, he leans down to gather her into his arms, asking, “You ready?”

He’s quiet as he takes you back to your own car, contemplative, and he wordlessly helps buckle Mia into her car seat, biceps flexing as he protects the top of her head from bumping against the roof of the sedan. 

It should be odd, you think, to let him do this. To let him take care of your daughter without question.

But it’s not like you don’t know him. It’s not like he’s never treated you with the same gentle reverence, either.

(Because you remember high school. You remember your first big breakup, sophomore year, and Steve finding you crying behind the bleachers in the outfield. You remember him sitting next to you and wrapping an arm around your shoulders, pulling some napkins from his coat pocket to dab at your mascara stained cheeks. You remember his kindness, back when he was King Steve and you were someone on the outskirts of his universe. You remember him driving you home afterwards and helping you into bed. You remember coming into school the next day to see your ex with a black eye and fat lip, and the warmth in your chest that, for the first time, someone had taken care of you.)

“Thank you,” you say, even if it falls far short of anything else you really want to say. “This… this meant more than you know.”

Steve straightens, gently shutting the door. “It’s no problem, honestly.”

“Still,” you say. “You don’t need to be so nice, Steve. I know I’m just your…”

Your former fling. Someone you filled your afternoons with before Nancy Wheeler broke your heart. A person you probably haven’t thought about in years.

“My friend,” he gently finishes. “You’re my friend.”

You blink, taken aback. “But we haven’t—”

“I know,” he interrupts, still in that soft, soothing tone of his. “But I never once stopped considering you a friend. And…” He pats around the pockets of his jeans, pulling out a scrap of paper. “I’ve been trying to figure out a good time to give this to you.”

You take it, looking down to find a phone number scrawled out.

“I live in a place up near Forest Hills Park now,” he continues on. “Up in northeast Hawkins? Not the trailer park that has the same name, it’s on the opposite side of town. So my number’s obviously changed, but if, you know, you ever want to talk, I’m almost always home around eight. To catch up.”

“Oh.” Your throat feels uncomfortably tight. “Oh, this…”

“You don’t have to,” he quickly says. “Just figured I’d offer.”

Something in your chest warms at the thought. Catching up. Even if you’re confident that there’s nothing in your life interesting enough to catch up on, he’s looking at you so earnestly, so ardently, that you can’t deny him.

“I will,” you promise. “I will. And—my phone number never changed, so if you still remember that—”

“I do.”

You pause, smiling. “You can call me anytime.”

A shy, sheepish grin peeks from his face. “Yeah?”

You nod. “Yeah. And for what it’s worth, I’m still living in the same house I did in high school.”

“Really?” he asks, following you around the car as you reach for the driver’s side door. “What’s the story behind that?”

“I don’t know,” you say coquettishly, slipping into the seat. “You’ll have to call and find out, won’t you?”

Sunday comes, and Mia gets whisked off to her father’s house like she always does, and you’re once again left wandering around your house, trying desperately to fill up the time and space that’s usually allotted to parenting. It’s never easy to ignore the way that being a mother has been hardwired into each and every one of your molecules, a small tick tick tick that’s sounding off in the back of your brain like you’re somehow doing something wrong by curling up on the couch, watching reruns on the television instead of reading your daughter a bedtime story.

A few days pass, and Mia calls like she does every night when she’s at her dad’s, telling you about softball practice and feeling the baby kick and what she ate for dinner.

“I don’t think Dad likes Coach Steve,” she whispers over the line. “He always sits in the car at practice and never says ‘hi.’”

This doesn’t surprise you, but you’re not about to tell her that Coach Steve and Dad once got into it over Dad not being good enough at basketball to get off the bench in high school. 

“I’m sure he likes Coach Steve just fine,” you instead say. “Anyway, what else did you do today?

She continues to ramble, you continue to listen, and eventually, Mark takes the phone, saying, “Hey, listen, I had a question for you.”

You sit up straighter. “Yeah? What’s up?”

“I know this is short notice,” he begins. “But my parents bought plane tickets for me, Lisa, and Mia to visit them in Florida next week. They wanted to see everyone before the baby comes, you know? Anyway, I told them that it was your week, but they insisted on it.”

Something in your gut curdles.

And here’s the crux of the issue:

You don’t dislike the Lewinsky's. Sure, they did threaten to sue you into oblivion had you not agreed to the current custody arrangement between you and Mark, and sure, they ignored your calls when you were pregnant, trying to get in touch with Mark after he changed his number. But you can’t forget how they took care of you after your family’s death, either, nor can you forget that they’re your daughter’s family.

(As much as you might think they’re reprehensible people, that’s for Mia to decide when she’s older, and you do your best to keep your opinions away from her.)

You stay silent long enough that Mark says, “And so you don’t lose your time with her, I figure that when we get back, you’ll get the next two weeks before we go back to our normal schedule.”

You purse your lips together. “I’m not happy about this.”

“I didn’t think you would be,” Mark replies. 

“I’ll agree this time,” you say. “But don’t make a habit of it. Have you told Mia? She’s going to be upset.”

“Wanted to ask first,” he says. “Could you pack a bag for her, by the way? I’ll swing by Friday evening to pick it up, and she can say bye to you then.”

“Fine,” you tell him shortly. “Please take some pictures of her while you’re there and send me the copies.”

“You got it,” he says. “I’ll make sure to set some time aside for her to call while we’re down there, too.”

That’s the least you could do, you think bitterly, but force yourself say, “I appreciate it. Give her my love.”

And the line goes dead.

You let out an aggravated sigh, too annoyed to keep sitting. You make your way to the kitchen, aggressively scrubbing the scant dishes you’d left from breakfast. Laundry gets thrown into the wash before you climb upstairs, looking around your daughter’s room as you find a bag, tossing in clothes that Mark’s parents are the least likely to judge, tucking her favorite book in alongside in the fabric, and for a moment, you’re lost.

Adrift.

You’ve never spent two weeks away from your daughter. You had never gone more than seven days without her wrapping her small body around your chest, without hearing her mumble as she dreamed or watching her sleepily walk into the kitchen for breakfast. 

Your life, since May 1987, has entirely revolved around the role of Mom.

Who are you when you aren’t that?

You aren’t sure, and that scares you more than it should.

The rest of your evening is spent aimlessly, listlessly, as you try to find something to fill your time. Your time away from Mia is generally spent catching up on laundry and cleaning and getting ready for her to come back, making sure you have enough food in the house for her lunches and some new books from the library.

What did you do for fun before you were a mother?

You genuinely can’t remember.

Before you can consider it too deeply, your keys are in your hand, sandals are slid onto your feet, and the next thing you know, you’re in the parking lot at Family Video, easing your way inside the familiar store and nodding at the bored teenager behind the register. 

For a moment, you stare at the red curtain in the back, illuminated by the neon sign proclaiming ADULT above it, and you’re tempted. Really tempted. Honestly, when was the last time you had time for yourself like that? But the last time you’d been behind that curtain was the summer that Mia was conceived, when you’d snuck behind it with Mark, giggling like the children as you whispered the names of different titles, mocking and young and so, so in love.

If you go back there now, you’re not sure that you won’t meet the ghost of your former self, still being spun in a circle and covered in kisses with not a single care in the world.

So you pivot left, in the opposite direction of the pornos, towards the new releases and ignoring the door opening behind you as you search for something to fill your evening.

Rows of tapes surround you, some sticking out, movies you would’ve rented without second thought for Mia like 101 Dalmatians and The Brave Little Toaster. Films that are kid friendly, ones you can enjoy alongside her as you wait for a re-release of The Little Mermaid and fight half of Hawkins to snag a copy.

Just as a copy of Father of the Bride catches your eye, a warm voice behind you says, “Hey.”

You jump, spinning around, coming face to face with none other than Steve, who’s smiling down at you like it’s the most natural thing for him to do.

“Oh! Hi, Steve,” you say, clutching your chest. “What are you doing here?”

The second the words are out of your mouth, you feel like a complete idiot. What are you here for? What else would someone go into a video store for?

But he only shrugs, saying, “I caught sight of you walking in as I was driving home, so I figured I’d stop in. I was just about to call you, actually.”

Your heart beats harder than it should at the admission as you thump his arm softly. “Okay, creep.”

He laughs, and your gaze snags on his Adam’s apple as he tilts his head back, carefree in a way you haven’t felt in years.

“You got me there,” he admits. Glancing around, he asks, “Is Mia at her dad’s this week?”

“Yeah,” you say. “And, uh, next week, too. Last minute vacation to Mark’s parents’ place in Florida, apparently, so she won’t be at practice.”

There must be something in your tone—a sadness you can’t force away—because Steve catches your wrist, his thumb pressing comfortingly into the pulse point where your heart flutters against your skin, his voice full of empathy as he says, “That sounds rough.”

You nod, blinking back the torrent of emotions threatening to overpower you. “It’s kind of weird having no kid around, if I’m honest.”

“Hence the movie?” he asks, tilting his head towards the racks.

“Yup,” you say. “Hence the movie.” 

An idea pops into your head, then. And, well, Steve is the one who said that he still considered you a friend, right? 

“Hey, uh,” you flounder for a moment. “Would you want to come by for dinner on Friday? If you’re free? I can cook, you know, to make up for you buying our dinner. We could, uh, watch—” Your eyes cut to the tape next to you, and you snatch it from the shelf. “—Father of the Bride together. Maybe drink beer or something?”

His shoulders soften, and he fixes you with a look that has your knees weak and your stomach flipping as though you were a teenager once more.

“I’d love that,” he murmurs, his thumb worrying a path down to your palm. “But let me get the beer, alright? I’ll feel bad not bringing something.”

“I can agree to those terms,” you say, suddenly giddy. “You said you’re usually home by eight, right? Or—if you want to come home—I mean, come by earlier—I get back from work around four.”

“Is five okay?” he asks. “I’m helping a friend build something during the day, so I want to make sure I can shower before I come over.”

“Five’s perfect!” A grin stretches across your face before you can stop it. “You haven’t developed any allergies since high school, right?”

He shakes his head. “No, and before you ask, I do still eat anything that gets put on a plate, so just make whatever you’d usually eat.”

You already know that you are going to make something nice, and you’re pretty sure he can tell, too, but you lead him towards the register, slapping the tape down on the counter and digging through your purse.

But while you’re pulling your wallet out, Steve’s already handed a ten dollar bill over, telling the cashier, “Have a good night, man.”

“I was going to pay,” you say as he leads you from the store. “Seriously, Steve, let me give you money for it.”

“No can do,” he says. “My mother raised me to be a gentleman, honey. She’d rip me a new one if she knew I made someone as beautiful as you pay.”

You stumble, heat coursing through your body, and his hand quickly puts you right, a steadying presence as you choke out, “Hold on, are you flirting with me?”

“I’ve been trying to since I saw you without a ring on your finger,” he confesses. “But I’m glad it’s working now.”

You splutter incoherently. “Steve!”

Embarrassment flushes at your skin, and in the next moment, it feels as though your entire being is overpowered by him. He leans down, his nose brushing against your own as the smell of his cologne, something deep and woodsy, fills your head. Fingers skim down your arm, and you can practically taste the sweat on his skin as he murmurs, “I wasn’t lying when I said that you were the prettiest girl. And, well…” His gaze very obviously drops down to your lips. “I’d like to rectify that and say you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

“You’re just saying that to be nice,” you breathe, heart beating erratically against your rib cage.

“Am I?” he asks.

For a moment, you think he might do something more, and you feel like that sixteen year old who spent her summer wrapped up in his arms, but the only thing he does is press a chaste kiss to your cheek.

You touch it gently, blinking up at him, and he whispers, “See you Friday?”

And then you’re left standing in the middle of the parking lot, Father of the Bride clutched in your hand as you watch him drive off.

You don’t remember much of the drive home. You don’t remember much of anything, really, just that the second your front door is locked, you’re climbing the stairs to your bedroom, arousal burning it’s way through your entire body.

It’s been so long since you’ve felt this way—since you had the freedom to feel this way—that it crashes into you all at once, almost blinding you with how much you want. Want Steve, want pleasure, want something.

Your shirt gets shed first, your bra is thrown towards the hamper in the corner, and you kick your underwear and pants off in one fell swoop before collapsing onto the bed. 

There’s no slow buildup the way you might have once done it, no teasing of your breasts, no swirling around your clit, because god, you are wet and aching in a way that you haven’t felt in so long. Too long.

While one hand roughly grabs your own tit, your other creeps down to the apex of your legs, drifting through the thatch of pubic hair to swipe through your slit, gathering slick on the pads of your fingers. 

You remember, suddenly, the first time you ever slept with Steve, a few months after that breakup in tenth grade. How he had gripped your hips with his big, warm hands—hands that were soft and free from callouses at the time—and brought his mouth down to your cunt, licking a stripe from your hole up, sucking your clit into his mouth and hollowing out his cheeks in a way that had you seeing stars. How you had never felt such pleasure before, how you’d never had someone pay so much attention to you wholeheartedly before, and it’s the image if him peaking up at you from over your pussy that has you plunging two fingers inside, using the heel of your palm to grind into your clit.

It’s messy. It’s hot. It’s mesmerizing, becoming reacquainted with a part of your body that has long lived dormant inside you, to have the thrill of desire run so freely through all of your senses. To have your breasts peak in the cold air of the bedroom, to be able to moan loudly and freely, to so unabashedly become reacquainted with yourself once more.

You pinch a nipple between two fingers, twisting it in a way you once remember Steve doing, gasping breathlessly as your hips jerk up into your hand.

It’s intense, and your orgasm builds fast, faster than it usually does in quick, stolen moments. Your toes curl as heat pools in your stomach, your core aching, and with one more circle of your clit, everything explodes.

You lay there, panting, as the aftershocks of pleasure fissures through your limbs, pulling your soaked hand from between your legs.

If there is one thing that you know, you cannot wait for Friday to arrive.

The rest of the week passes quickly, and you find yourself thrumming with anticipation at the thought of Steve coming over.

(Not that you’re expecting anything, but you can’t even find it in yourself to feel guilty for fantasizing about the feelings of his hands against your thighs.)

Mia still calls every evening, and any happiness of the thought of seeing Steve gets doused when she quietly admits, “I wish I could spend the week with you.”

“I know, sweets,” you tell her. “But you’ll have so much fun with Nana and Grandpa. And I’ll take a week off of work, so we can have a whole week to ourselves when you come back, okay? Plus I’ll give you such a big hug and so many kisses when you come to get your bag tomorrow that you’ll be set for a whole week of hugs and kisses.”

“Mom, I don’t think it works like that,” she whines. “Don’t be silly.”

“Uh, it absolutely works like that,” you say. “Are you questioning me? The same person you called the smartest person in the world?”

“You’re not being smart when you’re being silly!”

You sigh dramatically, shaking your head. “I love you too, Mia.”

It isn’t until later in the night when you’ve finished washing your face and have slipped into pajamas that it hits you.

Mark is coming over. Tomorrow. When Steve is going to be at your house.

Fuck.

You scramble for the phone on your nightstand, punching in the number to Steve’s house that’s sat by your alarm clock since he gave it to you, and you hope and pray that it isn’t too late for you to call.

And for once, luck is on your side.

His voice is a little rough when he answers with, “Henderson, I swear to god, I love you, man, but I haven’t gained any opinions on quantum physic theories since you asked me twenty minutes ago.”

“Well, good for you,” you wryly say. “I’m not here to ask your thoughts on quantum physics.”

There’s a silence, a spluttering, and then Steve chokes out, “Yeah, you weren’t who I thought was calling.”

“Clearly not.” You sit down on the bed, running a finger along a fraying thread on your quilt. “I, uh, needed to warn you about something.”

“Ominous,” he says. “Hit me with it, honey.”

Your face warms at the epithet, and you quickly explain the scheduling blunder you made, rushing to say, “Just—if you’re here when Mark and Mia come over, could you—uh—stay hidden? I’m not embarrassed or anything, but, well, you are Mia’s coach, and Mark has been kind of weird when I’ve had men over before—and you two do have a history—and you can park in the garage and everything so Mia doesn’t see the truck, and I’m so sorry to ask this of you, and—”

“Honey,” he gently interrupts. “I get it. You don’t need to worry about offending me.”

“Are you sure?” you ask, worrying your lip between your teeth.

“Am I sure?” He huffs out a laugh, soft and full of affection. “I was sure when we were sixteen and you pushed me into my pool. I was just an idiot back then, but, you know, I had to thump my head a few times to figure it out.”

“I just…” You press your eyes shut. “I haven’t… it’s been a long time, Steve, and I don’t want to mess this up, but… I’m not the same girl you knew then. ”

“You won’t,” he assures. “And I’m not the same boy you knew, either. I want the woman you are now, in whatever way you’ll let me have you.”

Something in your chest eases at the admission, and you whisper, “Okay.”

You can hear the grin in his voice as he says, “Maybe we can talk more about this tomorrow? In person, over some beers?”

“Yeah,” you say. “Of course. Of course—just—I’ll leave the garage door open for you, okay? And you can come in through the side door. Just shout so, you know, I know when you’re in my house.”

“Anything for you, honey,” he says. “See you then?”

“See you then,” you promise.

The next day passes slowly, and you end up taking a half day, feigning illness convincingly enough that your boss lets you go without complaint.

Your house gets scrubbed from top to bottom, new bedding gets spread across your mattress, dinner is prepped, and you take a gloriously long shower, scrubbing every inch of your body until you’re satisfied.

You make your way back into your bedroom with a towel wrapped around your body, digging through your dresser to find something, well, sexy to wear.

(Not to be presumptuous or anything, but… you didn’t want to be caught off guard, either.)

It’s as you’re dabbing perfume behind your ears when you hear the creaking of the screen door. Seconds later, Steve’s voice calls out, “Honey, I’m home!”

You roll your eyes, affection blooming in your chest, and you call back, “One moment!”

With one more glance in the mirror to make sure everything is where it’s supposed to be, you make your way down to find Steve in the living room, a six pack of beer in one hand and a bouquet of flowers in the other, smiling nervously as you make your way closer to him.

“These are for you,” he says, thrusting the flowers towards you.

You take in the sight of him slowly, savoring it as your fingers brush against his, accepting the bouquet. His hair’s curled at the ends, like he’d taken a shower and didn’t dry his hair all the way afterwards, and he has a nice, linen button down tucked into dark wash jeans, clearly having put effort into looking nice.

For you.

“You look handsome,” you say shyly.

The corner of his mouth quirks up. “You look beautiful.”

You shake your head, moving past him towards the kitchen. “You have to say that,” you say. “I made you dinner.”

“I’d say that even without the promise of food,” he tells you, falling into step behind you. “But I won’t lie, the food is a motivator.”

It should be a little awkward, a bit uncomfortable, but the only thing you feel is safe.

It’s easy, you think, to share a space with Steve. Even if you hadn’t talked to him in nearly a decade, even if the shape of your life has changed so much since you first befriended him, he still knows you at your core. He knows what makes you laugh and what you like. He remembers how to work your oven, preheating it for the ziti that you prepped, and he slides an open beer across to you without prompt, bumping his foot against yours underneath the breakfast table you’re both sat at as you wait for the pasta to bake.

It’s almost enough for you to forget who you are outside of this small bubble you’ve created, for you to forget the person you’ve become in the years you didn’t see Steve. 

Almost, up until the doorbell rings, and Steve hangs back as you bring the bag of Mia’s clothes to the front porch, easing the door shut behind you.

You’re not shocked when Mia throws herself at you, tears already streaming down her face as Mark taps his foot impatiently behind her, blubbering incoherently about missing and sad and Mom in a way that has your heart shattering into a million, tiny pieces.

“Oh, sweets,” you murmur into her hair, holding her tightly to your chest. “It’s just a week, sweet girl. You’ll be home before you know it, and you’re going to have so much fun.”

“But I don’t wanna,” Mia sobs, little hiccups bubbling from her. “I wanna stay here, Mom, I don’t wanna go to stinky Florida!”

Mark scowls. “Amelia, honestly. This behavior is ridiculous. I’ve already told you that we’re visiting Disney. Don’t you want to meet Minnie Mouse?”

You shoot Mark the nastiest glare you can manage. 

“Not without Mom!” wails Mia, gripping your shirt even tighter.

“Baby,” you try again. “It’ll all be okay. You won’t even have time to miss me!”

“You’re lying,” she shouts, though her words are muffled from the way her face is pressed into your throat. “I always miss you!”

(And if that doesn’t make you want to pull her into the house and lock the door.)

Mark lets out an exasperated noise, glancing towards the idling car, and you know it’s time for them to go. Forcing yourself to stand, you gather Mia up in your arms—even if she’s just a bit too heavy for you to comfortably carry—and make your way towards the backseat.

She screams the entire way, tiny fists pounding on your back as you pull open the door. Mark’s wife, Lisa, gives you a sympathetic look when you’re forced to pry Mia’s hands from the fabric of your shirt, choking back your own tears as you buckle your daughter into her booster seat. You capture her face between your hands, pressing kisses to every surface of her face that you can reach, even as she screeches in protest.

You barely manage to utter out one final I love you so much, sweets before Mark nudges you out of the way, slamming the door shut as he says, “If you didn’t coddle her so much, she wouldn’t act like this.”

There are plenty of things you want to say. You could say, words that have been simmering under the surface for years. Insults, injuries, all sorts of horrible thoughts you’ve buried ever since Mia came screaming into the world on an early May morning, but you choke all of it back, snapping, “Have you considered that, maybe, if you’d wanted to be a father when she was born, she would have more of an attachment to you, Mark.”

“The town was in lock down,” he argues.

You shake your head, not pointing out the fact that he changed his god damn phone number so you couldn’t to reach him. “You could’ve tried, asshole.”

“Yeah, well,” he snips, stomping his way over to the driver’s side. “At least I’m not an uptight bitch.”

The only thing that stops you from losing it entirely is the knowledge that your daughter will hear it, and you refuse to be the parent who does that to her. Instead, you say, “You better call once you’re settled at your parents’ house. I want to make sure she’s okay.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he grunts, slamming the car shut, effectively cutting the conversation off.

You stand there, waiting in the driveway as he pulls out, memorizing the shape of your daughter’s face pressed against the window, the way her little fingers claw at the glass, and you hold yourself tightly, trying desperately to not let her see just how much pain this situation is causing you.

(You would do anything to prevent her from shedding another tear again, and it kills you to be the cause of her anguish now.)

Once his car disappears from sight, and you force yourself back into the house, kicking the door shut behind you. 

Steve looks up from his place on the couch, takes one look at your face, and opens his arms up in the same way he had for your daughter just a few weeks prior. It’s easy, then, to crawl onto his lap the way you once did in high school, to let yourself be held tightly, to press your ear against his chest and listen to the sound of his steady heartbeat. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks softly, dragging a hand down your back.

You sigh, pressing your eyes shut. “Mark’s just an asshole, and Mia hates spending more time with him than she has to, but there’s nothing I can do about it. She’s still so young, and even if I had the money to take him to court for full custody, it would be hard to when the courts wouldn’t take her opinion into consideration. I try my best, but… but seeing her cry, I don’t know. Makes me wonder if I’m doing the right thing by not letting her choose now, you know? But despite everything, they’re her family, and she should know them.”

“What a douche bag,” Steve bluntly says. 

A laugh bursts from you, unbidden. “Did I ever tell you that he accused me of cheating on him when I announced that I was pregnant?”

A scandalized noise erupts from his throat. “No.”

“Yes!” You sit up, meeting Steve’s eye. “And because he was at Purdue, I had to call him. He asked, ‘are you sure it’s mine?” then changed his number so I couldn’t contact him! He only showed up when Mia was two and demanded shared custody after the paternity test said that he was the father.”

“Seriously?” Steve scoffs. “What an asshole. You know, he never watches Mia at practice, either, and always looks annoyed when she tries to talk to him about it. I’ve even told him that she was really good and he just glared at me! Glared! He doesn’t deserve her.”

“No,” you agree. “He really doesn’t.”

“You know…” A small smile crosses Steve’s face. “I bet the reason he’s so pissy about it is ‘cause he’s mad that she’s better at softball than he ever was at basketball.”

“I bet you’re right,” you say. “He can’t handle the blow to his ego.”

A beat passes, his grin widens, and before you can stop it, giggles spill from your lips as all tension leaves your body. 

It feels good to talk to someone about your daughter’s shitty father, to have Steve so easily validate every annoyance you’ve ever felt towards the man. It feels like you’re not as crazy as you're left feeling half the time after interacting with the man, to know that you’re not as alone in the world as you felt even five minutes prior.

The timer on the oven goes off, and the two of you make your way into the kitchen. Steve pulls plates from the cabinet, talking about the baseball team he coaches as you pull the baking dish from the oven, putting it on the breakfast table while he sets silverware down.

And dinner is…

It’s nice.

It’s simple, and it’s easy, and you feel like you, but in a way that doesn’t feel at war with your role as a parent. Like Steve sees both sides of you, understands that they are two sides to the same coin, and he likes you that way.

He talks about his life since high school. A shitty job at the mall, a shittier job at Family Video once the mall burnt down. The years spent working weird jobs, taking care of a gaggle of kids you vaguely remember seeing him with in high school. He tells you how he lied to his parents about how he couldn’t get into college, having not known what to do with his life and not wanting to disappoint them.

“I guess I thought they’d find it easier to accept that I was too stupid to be accepted,” he explains. “Though, as it turns out, they wouldn’t have had an issue with me just saying that I wanted to take a gap year.”

“Did you end up going?” you ask, sipping at your beer. “To college, that is.”

He leans back in his seat, stretching his arms behind his head. You don’t miss the flash of tummy, the trail of hair leading south that had not been there the last time you saw it. 

“I did,” he says with no small amount of pride. “Graduated this past May, actually. Got a degree in physical education from Ball State. I’m starting at a gym teacher at the middle school in the fall.”

“Holy shit!” You reach over, squeezing his leg. “Congrats! That’s huge!”

He beams, but shrugs bashfully. “It’s no big deal.”

“Don’t be modest,” you scold. “That’s amazing. Mr. Harrington, gym teacher. Has a nice ring to it.”

“You think?” He leans forward, resting his forearms on the wooden tabletop. “So… you told me to call and ask why you’re still living here. Do I still need to do that, or can I ask now?”

“Hm.” You pretend to contemplate it, dragging your gaze across the kitchen, your eyes catching on the fridge covered in your daughter’s drawings. “I guess I can tell you, but I have to warn you, it’s not a fun story.”

“Not everything has to be,” he says.

And that’s all the assurance you need.

He listens attentively as you describe the car crash you don’t really remember, the one that ended the lives of your family just a couple of weeks after you graduated high school. The physical therapy, the fact that you lost your spot in college from all the medical issues. The way you planned to go once you healed, just somewhere closer to home, somewhere more affordable so you didn’t blow through the money you inherited. But then one thing led to another—the earthquake, the quarantine, the pregnancy—and your life had once again flipped upside down.

You talk about the early years with Mia. The labor that had lasted for thirty-one hours, the nurse who all held your hand as you pushed, the one for whom you named Mia after. The exhaustion, the late nights and early mornings, how you felt so, so much love for the tiny creature that you created from nothing, who felt so alien and so familiar at the same time. You tell him about her first laugh and first words and first steps, her propensity to get into trouble even from such a young age. How you bawled at her first birthday party, an event that was only attended by neighbors because, at that point, all of your friends had moved on with their lives while yours was completely centered on Mia.

You tell him about the day that Mark came crashing back in, the fury that you felt, how you had screamed at him so loudly that a neighbor came over to see if they needed to call the police on him for trespassing. The way you felt so small when his parents came in with money and lawyers and more things than you could ever hope to provide your daughter on a meager salary, how you’d been bullied into giving up more of your time with Mia than you ever wanted. 

You tell him everything that you can think of, and when you’re done, you steel your nerves, look Steve straight in the eye, and say, “There’s another thing.”

He nods. “Yeah?”

“I can’t…” You chew on your lip. “I won’t do anything to hurt her, Steve. I can’t have you in my life as… as someone who’s flirting with me, or doing something more. Not if you don’t understand that we’re a package deal. She’s everything to me, and I would rather die than have her hurt over a choice I made. And I know this is a lot, and I know this is intense, but—I’m telling you right now. You’re either all in or you’re out. We can be friends, and we can hang out, but if you want anything more… you have to understand that she will always come first.”

“I know,” he says simply. “I wouldn’t expect anything less, honey. Whatever you’ll let me have, whatever parts of your lives I can be in, I want that. I want you. Both of you, in whatever way you’ll have me.”

Something in your chest eases at the admission, a nervousness dissipating.

Slowly, he leans in, the gap between the two of you closing, and he whispers, “Is this okay?”

“Yes,” you breathe, your eyes fluttering shut.

And his lips crash into yours.

Your fingers scramble up, gripping his chin as he pulls you forward, off your chair and onto his lap.

It feels as though you’re on fire, sparks shooting across your skin with every rough drag of his lips, with every nip of his teeth. You tilt his head so you can have a better angle, and when he lets out a wanton groan, you feel alive.

His calloused palms skim their way under your shirt, settling on your waist as you moan into the kiss, open mouthed, drawing his tongue in. 

It’s messy, and it’s a little clumsy, but you find that you don’t care. Not when you can feel him hot and hard against your leg, and not when he whimpers against your lips as you tug on his hair.

“Honey,” he whispers. “Don’t torture me.”

“I wasn’t planning on it,” you say, pulling away. A trail of spit connects the two of you, and you take in just how incredibly wrecked he looks already, with his pupils blown wide and a heavy flush on his cheeks. “Would you… do you want to go upstairs?”

You stand and capture his fingers between your own, tugging him through the house and up the stairs.

It isn’t until you enter the expanse of your bedroom that the nerves start to get the better of you, and you put your hands on his chest, stopping him from ducking down to kiss you once more as you say, “I have something else to tell you.”

“What is it?” he asks, pressing his forehead into yours.

“Just… I…” You squeeze your eyes shut, embarrassment flooding your system.

“Hey,” he murmurs. “Look at me, honey. Are you having second thoughts? We don’t have to do anything—honestly, I wasn’t expecting—”

“It’s not that,” you quickly interrupt. “It’s not—it’s just that—I’m different now. My body—it looks different from how you remember it. It’s softer, and I have stretch marks, and—I’ve had a baby. I don’t look the same.”

A kiss, gentle yet effervescent, is pressed into your temple. “That doesn’t matter to me at all. You grew a person. You think I’m supposed to feel anything other than awe over that?”

“I’ve had—other people have told me it’s gross,” you confess. “I just… I wanted to prepare you, is all.”

“Oh, honey.” It’s said so softly that you barely hear it. “I could never be grossed out by you.”

Your eyes fly open. You see the honesty on his face, along with the unbridled desire as his gaze dips down, and before you lose your nerve, you reach for the hem of your shirt, pulling it up and off and tossing it somewhere out of sight.

The reaction is immediate.

It’s gratifying, honestly, how clearly he wants you. How clearly he desires you, and everything that comes with it. Enough so that you’re pushing your pants down, asking, “Am I the only one getting undressed tonight?”

He grabs the end of his shirt with a fervor, completely and utterly uncoordinated, and you can’t help but giggle from his enthusiasm.

That is, however, until you see his chest. The way a forest of hair has completely taken over, yes, but the mottled silver scars that cover the tanned skin, tracing down his sides and stopping mere inches from his boxers.

You want to ask, but when you look back up at his face, you recognize the situation for what it is: A conversation for a different time, a different day, where you have the time and space to become reacquainted with one another on a deeper level.

He steps closer, then, and you remember thinking how much of a man Steve had seemed back in high school, back when you were just a girl yourself and he was the most grown person you’d slept with. All confidence and bravado and hard lines, a tendency towards your pleasure before his own like it was his solemn duty. But you had been utterly wrong about whatever masculinity that you assumed he had back in high school. 

The boy he was then has nothing on the man he is now, the kind of man who has grown into his own body, who is comfortable in who he is above all else. One that’s softer, less toned, but somehow more powerful than before. Covered in the kind of hair that can only come with life experience and age, a surety in his hands that no one else has ever had as he reaches for your hips.

“I’m going to kiss you,” he warns, his lips brushing over your own.

You tilt your chin up, grinning, and he presses forward.

It’s softer now, less frenzied. He takes his time mapping every part of your face as he presses you back into your sheets, covering your body with his own. You reach behind you, unclasping your bra and tossing it away, desperate to feel the wiry hair on his chest brush against your nipples, and you mewl at the sensation. 

Steve huffs a laugh into your mouth, planting his lips down your chin, ghosting his teeth over the column of your beck and down to your collar.

He pauses, then, one big, calloused hand coming up to cup your breast, his thumb dragging over the peak, and he whispers, “I know I keep saying this, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone more beautiful than you are.”

“You’re cheesy,” you say.

“Only for you,” he replies.

A kiss is pressed onto your sternum, then a little bite, and before you can process it, your entire nipple is sucked into his mouth, his tongue lavishing circles around the bud as his hand comes up to play with your other breast.

“Fuck, Steve,” you gasp, threading your fingers through his hair.

He peeks up at you, his brown eyes glowing in the darkness of your room, and grins with your tit still in his mouth.

It’s obscene, yet you feel so, so hot, especially as his hand travels down your body, making its way to your wet, aching core.

“So pretty for me, honey,” he murmurs, releasing your breast with a pop. “So, so pretty.”

He traces a path down, his tongue leaving a trail of spit as he goes, and for a moment, you think he’s going to just dive in, ripping your panties off and feasting the way he once did, but he doesn’t. He stops at your stretch marks, and carefully, begins to plant a kiss on every single one that he can find, mumbling beautiful and gorgeous as he goes. 

Your entire head goes fuzzy at the sight, and you think he can tell by the dopey grin he shoots you as he asks, “Do you still think I don’t love this?”

“You’re a perv,” you moan, his thumb pressing down on your clit through your panties. “And a freak. I can’t believe—”

“Only for you,” he promises. “Only for you, honey.”

Fingers come up to the elastic of your underwear, and with your permission, he begins the torturous process of peeling them down your legs, tossing them to the side without a care before spreading you open once more.

You aren’t surprised when he pampers kisses along your inner thigh, easing his way towards your core, to where you want him the most. You can feel the mess you’re making despite the fact he’s barely touched you, and you see the delight on his face when he makes his way home, stroking a hand through your pubic hair before spreading your lower lips apart.

“I missed this,” he says, then dives straight in.

The next thing you know, his tongue is everywhere. Dipping inside your cunt, swirling around your clit. He flattens it, licking a long stripe up as he peers at you through the thatch of hair, and you feel completely and utterly incoherent as pleasure builds faster than you’ve ever felt before.

Two fingers nudge their way inside, curling, finding the spot that has your thighs squeezing Steve’s head. You can feel his laugh, rather than hear it, as it vibrates against your pussy in a way that has your hips jerking up, desperate, chasing—

“That’s it,” he says, twisting his hand. “Come for me, honey.”

And you do.

Loudly.

A moan is ripped from your throat, bouncing around the walls as you tangle your fingers into his hair, stars shooting across your eyes as he holds you in place.

You feel like you’re on fire, like you’ve somehow been born anew as he works you through your orgasm, brushing a thumb against your clit as you shake and shake and shake, coming down slowly from the highest high you’ve ever felt in your life, until slowly, finally, your limbs stop trembling, and every single one of your muscles goes lax.

“Wow,” you whisper, forcing your eyes open and down towards the man still planting kitten kisses against your pussy. “Wow, Steve. You got—a lot better at that.”

“Yeah?” He shoots you a lopsided grin. “I’m glad.”

You tug on his hair once more, pulling him back up your body. “Come here.”

He follows, and you pull him towards your mouth, savoring the taste of you on his tongue as he kisses you deeply.

It’s perfect.

You reach down, hooking your thumbs into the elastic of his boxers, and he pulls back suddenly, saying, “Uh, when I said I wasn’t expecting anything—I meant it. I don’t—I didn’t bring protection.”

“It’s alright,” you say. “I have an IUD.”

His eyes blow wide open at that, and the next thing you know, his lips are crashing into yours once more as he helps you shuck his underwear. You take him into your hand, finding him warm and somehow bigger than you remember, but still so utterly him and utterly real.

His hips stutter as you give a few, testing pumps, and he whimpers against your mouth, pleading, “Don’t tease.”

“Not teasing,” you say. “Just feeling.”

His forehead drops to your collar as you continue to stroke him, up and down and up and down, dragging your nails across sensitive skin, soaking in the way he moans so beautifully under your ministrations. 

“Honey,” he groans. “Please, please, may I fuck you?”

“Well,” you giggle. “Since you asked so nicely.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice.

You yelp when he catches you under your knees, pushing up, up, up until you’re practically folded in half, the tip of his cock dragging through your folds, gathering wetness. He looks up, locking his eyes on you, before slowly—torturouslyslow—he pushes in. 

Your mouth drops open as a loud moan is punched from your throat, savoring the feeling of how he drags against your walls, filling you up in a way that you could go crazy over.

He eases out, testing, and gives a shallow thrust, testing, teasing, as he carefully fucks each and every single inch back into you until finally, finally, he bottoms out, his hips flush with your pussy.

And for one, small, excruciating moment, you know what it feels like to be home.

He leans over your body, capturing your hands in his own, winding your fingers together as he presses your foreheads together, the obscene sound of him fucking you gently filling your head.

“So beautiful,” he murmurs against your open mouth. “So, so beautiful, so mine—so lucky, honey, I’m so lucky—”

Tears of pleasure spring in the corners of your eyes, falling down your cheeks, and you let out a breathy laugh when he licks them up, loving the feeling of his tongue against your oversensitive skin. 

It’s never, not in any of your years of sleeping with people, made you feel as whole and complete as you do now, with Steve making space in your body for himself, with the unbridled pleasure he gives you with each and every thrust. 

It almost slips from your lips—an inappropriately timed expression of love—and you think he can tell, because he whispers, “I know, honey, I know.”

“Steve,” you gasp. “Steve.”

He picks up the pace, his hips snapping against yours faster, punching the air from your lungs as bliss lays claim on every single one of your senses.

“Please,” you babble, “please please please, come in me, please—”

“Fuck,” he grunts, then captures your lips so roughly that they’ll no doubt be swollen by the time morning rolls around.

He gives a last few, harsh, stuttering thrusts as warmth spills inside you before collapsing on top of you entirely.

It takes a few minutes, ones you spend stroking a hand down his muscular back, becoming reacquainted with the feeling of his skin, before he pulls out and rolls off, saying, “I could do that every day.”

You tilt your head, giving him what is no doubt a dopey smile.

“Yeah,” you say. “Me too.”

It takes a bit for the two of you to clean up, with Steve insisting on carrying you to the bathroom and laughing when you slip from his sweaty grip.

He finds a wash cloth in the linen cabinet, taking care to be mindful of any sensitivity on your end as he drags the cloth through your folds, washing his spend from your skin,

He also, in the years apart, had lost all sense of shame and insists on staying in the bathroom as you pee, holding your hand like you were at risk of flying away if he were to turn away for just a single second.

It should be embarrassing, but you find that you’ve long since moved past any sense of shame when it comes to Steve Harrington.

Back in your bedroom, he tugs soft pajamas from the dresser and insists on dressing you, kneeling on the ground as he helps you step into underwear, his hands warm against your legs as he pulls up the fabric. 

The two of you move back to the bed, crawling under your old quilt, and instinctively you reach over to the alarm clock, flicking on the radio as Jimmy Lee’s Late Night at the Squawk plays.

“You know,” Steve murmurs against your cheek. “One of those weird jobs I mentioned earlier? One of them was at the radio station.”

“Yeah?” you ask, a little too sleepy to say anything else.

He nods, his hair ticking the soft skin of your face. “Uh-huh. Back during lock down, in ’87. I did the late night set at the Squawk, Monday through Friday.”

Everything in your body stills. “Are you serious?”

His eyes peel open, fixing you with a curious look. “Yeah. Robin—my best friend, she handled the morning show—always said that she had to put me late at night, ‘cause my music choices were too boring.”

“No, it’s not—” Your heart pounds erratically, and it feels as though flowers have wound themselves around your ribcage, blooming under the admission. “Steve.”

“Yes?”

“Mia was born in ’87.”

“I know,” he says.

“No, no, you don’t—”

A laugh bubbles from you, and he hitches himself up on an elbow. “I’m missing something.”

“That was you!” you say between giggles. “Oh my god! No wonder she likes you so much!”

“Honey?”

“After Mia was born,” you start, grinning like a madman. “When it was just me and her, the only way I could get her to sleep was by tuning the radio to the Squawk whenever your show was on. But I had no idea it was you—I was so exhausted, you know?—and your voice—oh, god, your voice—it was the only thing that ever soothed her to sleep without fail.”

“Are you…” He licks his lips, his voice hoarse with emotion. “Are you serious? She…”

There’s something in his expression—hesitation, wonder, affection—that brings tears to your eyes, because you know that look. You know it intimately, because it’s the same way you feel every single time your daughter does something that surprises you, every time she grows just a little more into her own person.

And it’s a look that you have never, not a single time, seen on Mark’s face when he looks at her.

Something in you bursts, a swell of tenderness, of hilarity, over the fact that it took so long to find someone who might even remotely feel the same way about Mia that you do. And that person—that man—the one who so carefully cleaned her scraped knees, is the same man who once applied the same, careful precision to wiping tears from your face when you were nothing but a stranger to him.

It took so long, and he’d lived so close the entire time.

“You know,” he says, sounding rather choked up. “I—don’t kill me for saying this, but—I wish I’d run into you sooner.”

You find his hand in the dark and squeeze, hoping and praying that it conveys every single thing that you feel.

He threads his fingers through yours and squeezes back. 

“I’ve wasted so much time that I could’ve spent with you, with her,” he whispers. “I… I was serious earlier, when I said that I’ll take the two of you, in whatever way you’ll have me.  I’m all in, honey. She’s just—god, she’s an incredible kid, and you—I don’t even know where to begin, but—fuck.”

But he doesn’t need to explain.

user5 no thoughts just vibes and tongue probably

user6 harry looks so boyfriend here i’m unwell

iamrebeccad as you should 💋

└ user7 REBECCA?????

alexandrasaintmleux this is very you

└ user8 charles is going to kill her for enabling this

user9 wait am i crazy or does kiss all the time sound like… something

user10 y’all reach for anything 😭 it’s just a caption

lando excuse me why is everyone acting like that’s not MY babe

└ user11 LANDO?????

└ user12 someone get lando off instagram immediately

└ yn.leclerc behave

└ lando can’t. it’s genetic.

user13 lando claiming yn every post is my favorite subplot

user14 CHARLES WILL FREAK OUT

charles_leclerc I will not be involved in this

arthur_leclerc DISGUSTING

user15 charles commenting like he’s not already involved

harrystyles You say it like it’s a bad thing 💋

└ user16 HARRY COMMENTING???? HELLO???

└ user17 THE KISS EMOJI AGAIN WHY IS HE FLIRTING IN PUBLIC

user18 arthur acting disgusted like he's not harry and yn's biggest fan

user19 still don’t think it means anything you guys are bored

liked by user1, user2 and 18,938 others

harryupdates Harry Styles spotted leaving a recording studio in London earlier today

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user1 STUDIO????? oh we’re BACK back

user2 album season is looming i can feel it in my bones

user3 the way he disappears then suddenly lives in the studio… yeah

user4 new music is COMING coming

user5 he’s been way too quiet lately this checks out

user6 kiss all the time truthers rise

user7 you guys are delusional 😭

user8 no bc why would yn post that and now THIS happens

user9 this man only wears sunglasses like that when he’s cooking something

user10 studio sightings always mean we’re weeks away not months

user11 pls i just healed

user12 yn has been suspiciously calm lately

user13 album announcement before the end of the month i’m calling it

user14 watch him drop a random single and disappear again

user15 whatever he’s making i already love it

user16 harry styles recording music while being in love??? dangerous combo

user17 he looks happy idc that’s all i need

user18 someone check on arthur leclerc

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liked by yn.leclerc, harrystyles and 1,099,273 others

charles_leclerc Family dinner + my sister’s popstar boyfriend 🍝🎸

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user1 CHARLES SAYING IT LIKE THAT IS TAKING ME OUT

user2 “my sister’s popstar boyfriend” oh he’s SICK

user3 harry looks like he belongs there actually

user4 what if the leclercs had sneak peeks of the album

user5 the way charles posts harry so casually now 😭 growth

user6 yn leclerc won the lottery fr

lando wow okay so we’re doing FAMILY dinners now. interesting.

└ user7 LANDO THATS HER BOYFRIEND LMAOOO

└ charles_leclerc You were busy.

lando i was NOT. i simply was not invited.

└ arthur_leclerc I would’ve invited you.

└ harrystyles Betrayal

└ lorenzotl Lando would’ve brought chaos and zero wine.

└ lando i bring vibes.

user8 this comment section is better than netflix

user9 harry at the leclerc table feels correct

user10 GIVE US ALBUM INFO

yn.leclerc Thank you for hosting 🫶

└ charles_leclerc Anytime.

└ harrystyles Thank you for having me, i survived

└ user11 “i survived” ????

user12 harry being adopted by the leclercs permanently

user13 lando fighting for his life in these comments again

liked by harrystyles, iamrebeccad and 598,305 others

yn.leclerc disco, occasionally 🪩

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user1 okay but this caption feels… intentional

user2 first kiss all the time now disco occasionally i’m scared

user3 is this a lyric or are we projecting

user4 she’s just hot you guys relax

user5 harry has been at the studio EVERY DAY btw

charles_leclerc What does this mean.

└ user6 CHARLES ASKING TOO???

└ yn.leclerc nothing

└ charles_leclerc I don’t believe you.

arthur_leclerc wait is this about music

└ user7 ARTHUR CLOCKED IN

└ yn.leclerc no.

└ arthur_leclerc okay but hypothetically...

└ username1 I LOVE FANBOY ARTHUR

lorenzotl She’s doing it on purpose.

└ user8 LORENZO CONFIRMING OUR SUSPICIONS

user9 the leclerc brothers being confused is my favorite subplot

lando MY BABEEEE

└ user10 lando instigating AGAIN

└ yn.leclerc STOP IT

└ username2 harry doesn't even fight him anymore he just accepted his fate

harrystyles 🪩🫶

└ user11 HARRY STOP FEEDING THE DELUSION

└ user12 this is either nothing or everything and there’s no in between

user13 yn leclerc the menace you are

user14 disco yn era regardless i support

alexandrasaintmleux THE PRETTIEST EVER 😍

liked by user1, user2 and 15,983 others

harrystylesupdates Posters reading “we belong together” spotted in multiple cities overnight 👀 Seen in London, New York, and Paris.

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user1 POSTERS????? oh it’s happening

user2 MULTIPLE CITIES I’M SICK

user3 this is album rollout behavior

user4 “we belong together” that’s a SONG TITLE IDCCCC

user5 or a lyric. or both. i’m unwell.

user6 he’s doing the mysterious thing again

user7 this feels very intentional and very harry

user8 first studio sightings, then captions, now POSTERS???

user9 kiss all the time truthers HOW WE FEELING

arthur_leclerc @yn.leclerc TELL ME WHAT YOU KNOW.

└ user10 ARTHUR?????

└ user11 NOT HIM YELLING IN THE COMMENTS

└ yn.leclerc go to sleep.

└ arthur_leclerc I CANNOT

└ user12 arthur is all of us actually

user13 someone take harry’s phone away he’s terrorizing us

user14 this rollout already has more lore than my life

user15 yn being involved in this rollout somehow feels illegal

user16 watch the album title be something completely different and we’re clowns

user17 no way these posters mean nothing i refuse

user18 harry styles the man you are

user19 i know charles leclerc is seething over his brother being excited about this

liked by ynleclerc, charles_leclerc and 3,948,238 others

harrystyles Kiss All the Time, Disco Occasionally. March 6th.

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user1 WAIT.

user2 WAIT WAIT WAIT

user3 THAT’S WHAT YN POSTED.

user4 KISS ALL THE TIME DISCO OCCASIONALLY SHE SPOILED THE ALBUM TITLE.

user5 SHE KNEW. SHE ABSOLUTELY KNEW.

user6 THE CAPTIONS WERE THE TITLE IM GOING TO THROW UP

user7 he really said easter eggs but make it your girlfriend

user8 this rollout was INSANE actually

user9 yn leclerc YOU WILL PAY FOR YOUR CRIMES

charles_leclerc Oh.

└ user10 CHARLES REALIZING IN REAL TIME

arthur_leclerc ARE YOU KIDDING ME. I ASKED YOU.MULTIPLE TIMES. @yn.leclerc

└ yn.leclerc 🙂

└ user11 HER RESPONSE????? JAIL.

lando interesting.

└ user12 lando knew nothing but supported anyway

iamrebeccad this is iconic 💋

alexandrasaintmleux 🪩🤍

user13 wag approval = official album of the year

harrystyles For the record — she tried to behave.

└ user14 SHE TRIED????

└ user15 harry blaming yn publicly is crazy

arthur_leclerc I WILL NEVER RECOVER FROM THIS.

charles_leclerc Next time i’m muting all of you.

user16 this is the best album rollout in years idc

liked by user1, user2 and 8,294 others

styleclerc just realized that Kiss All the Time, Disco Occasionally drops the same day as the first race of the season… march 6th.

what is yn leclerc supposed to do 😭

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user1 SHE HAS TO PICK A SIDE IM SORRY

user2 march 6th is a hate crime actually

user3 yn watching charles race while harry drops an album??? evil

user4 charles fighting for his life on track while harry breaks records

user5 she’s gonna have like 4 screens open

user6 yn leclerc multitasking final boss

user7 imagine charles on the radio like “tell yn to stream” 😭

user8 harry planned this i know it

user9 no bc the timing is actually insane

user10 yn waking up like race day AND album day???

user11 this family groupchat is about to be chaos

user12 lando somewhere making this about himself

user13 charles vs harry for yn’s attention on the SAME DAY

user14 she’s gonna be in the paddock with airpods in

user15 “sorry charles i have to go stream track 7”

user16 this crossover is too powerful

user17 march 6th is booked, busy and stressful

user18 yn leclerc i am praying for you

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liked by harrystyles, lando and 598,304 others

yn.leclerc did you catch the name in my captions?? 💋🪩new h album coming. and for those wondering what will i do since it’s also the first race of the season that day… i guess we’ll have to wait and see 😉

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user1 SHE ADMITTED IT.

user2 WAIT AND SEE????? EVIL.

user3 yn enjoying this a little too much

user4 oh she KNEW what she was doing with those captions

user5 album day + race day yn pov is gonna be insane

user6 I KNOW CHARLES IS NOT HAPPY

user7 she’s gonna be in the paddock streaming the album isn’t she

user8 headphones in during the race I JUST KNOW IT

charles_leclerc I don’t like this answer.

└ user9 CHARLES 😭

└ yn.leclerc relax.

└ charles_leclerc No.

arthur_leclerc wait and see is CRAZY. i will not be waiting peacefully.

user10 arthur stressing in the comments again

lando she’s choosing chaos. i respect it.

user11 lando always encouraging the worst behavior

harrystyles I like surprises 💋

└ user12 HARRY PLEASE

user13 this comment section is already better than the day itself

user14 march 6th gonna be generational

user15 yn leclerc the woman that you are

liked by username1, username2 and 8,943 others

charlesupdates Charles Leclerc mentioned Harry Styles’ upcoming album Kiss All the Time, Disco Occasionally in a new interview today 👀

When asked if he’d heard any of it yet, Charles laughed and said: “I’ve heard… some things. There’s one piano ballad that’s very good.”

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user1 HUH????

user2 PIANO BALLAD??????

user3 how does he know that 🤨

user4 CHARLES WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU’VE HEARD SOME THINGS

user5 this man just leaked album information casually

user6 WAIT.

user7 charles… piano…

user8 NO WAY.

user9 are we thinking what i’m thinking

user10 DID HE PLAY PIANO ON A TRACK?????

user11 STOP I WOULD ACTUALLY PASS AWAY

user12 imagine charles leclerc randomly on a harry styles song

user13 this crossover keeps escalating

user14 he sounded way too confident saying piano ballad

user15 like sir how do you KNOW that

user16 yn definitely let him listen early

user17 or harry forced him to listen at family dinner 😭

user18 if charles is secretly on the album i will never recover

user19 arthur somewhere screaming right now

user20 march 6th just became even more insane

liked by yn.leclerc, harrystyles and 1,093,483 others

charles_leclerc little break before the season starts 🎹

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user1 CHARLES WHAT IS THIS TIMING

user2 oh this is suspicious

user3 you cannot post a piano video after that interview sir

user4 IS THIS THE BALLAD??????

user5 be honest are you on the album

user6 this crossover is getting out of hand

user7 march 6th lore keeps expanding

arthur_leclerc ARE YOU SERIOUS RIGHT NOW.

arthur_leclerc YOU SAID NOTHING ABOUT THIS.

└ charles_leclerc i’m just playing the piano.

└ arthur_leclerc SUSPICIOUSLY.

yn.leclerc nice song 🙂

└ user9 YN??????

└ user10 why does that sound like she KNOWS SOMETHING

harrystyles Sounds familiar 🎶

└ user11 EXCUSE ME???

└ user12 WHAT IS THIS

└ user13 THEY ARE TROLLING US

lando oh he’s definitely on the album.

└ user14 LANDO FUELING THE FIRE

carlossainz55 Not bad mate

└ user15 CARLOS LMAOOO

alex_albon New career after racing?

georgerussell63 Impressive actually

user16 drivers in the comments treating this like a recital

user17 i swear if charles leclerc appears on a harry styles song i will faint

user18 march 6th cannot come soon enough

liked by charles_leclerc, yn.leclerc and 4,039,943 others

harrystyles Aperture. The first single from Kiss All the Time, Disco Occasionally. Out Friday.

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user1 APERTURE??????

user2 FIRST SINGLE LETS GOOOO

user3 FRIDAY????? THAT’S SO SOON

user4 this album rollout is moving FAST

user5 ITS COMINGGG

user6 don’t start the charles theories again 😭

user7 i’m already emotionally attached to a song i haven’t heard

user8 harry styles piano ballad i’m not surviving

yn.leclerc 🤍

└ user9 YN BEING CASUAL IN THE COMMENTS IM SICK

└ user10 SHE DEFINITELY HEARD IT ALREADY

arthur_leclerc IS THIS THE PIANO BALLAD.

└ user11 ARTHUR ASKING THE IMPORTANT QUESTIONS

└ harrystyles You’ll have to listen.

└ user12 SIR????

└ user13 he said absolutely nothing and everything at the same time

lando arthur is not sleeping until friday

└ arthur_leclerc correct.

└ user14 arthur leclerc biggest harry fan confirmed

charles_leclerc nice title.

└ user15 CHARLES WHAT DO YOU MEAN NICE TITLE

└ user16 HE KNOWS SOMETHING.

user17 everyone in this comment section is suspicious

user18 friday cannot come fast enough

liked by harrystyles, charles_leclerc and 678,495 others

yn.leclerc aperture is out now 🪩 and we can’t stop dancing

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user1 THEY’RE DANCING TO IT I’M SICK

user2 THIS IS SO CUTE WHAT

user3 not the chaotic living room dancing 😭

user4 okay wait the song actually SLAPS

user5 yn leclerc soft launching herself as a backup dancer

user6 harry smiling like that??? goodbye

lando i could dance better.

└ user7 LANDO PLEASE

└ yn.leclerc prove it.

└ lando don’t test me.

arthur_leclerc I’VE LISTENED THREE TIMES ALREADY.

└ user8 ARTHUR 😭

arthur_leclerc also still investigating the piano situation.

└ charles_leclerc Arthur relax.

└ user9 CHARLES TRYING TO CONTROL THE SITUATION AGAIN

alexandrasaintmleux this is very cute 🤍

└ user10 ALEXANDRA APPROVAL WE LOVE TO SEE IT

carlossainz55 Good song

└ user11 CARLOS REVIEWING MUSIC NOW

alex_albon lando you definitely cannot dance better

└ lando fake friend.

georgerussell63 Solid dancing technique

└ user12 GEORGE RATING THEIR DANCING LMAO

harrystyles Best dance partner 💋

└ user13 IM UNWELL

└ user14 THE KISS EMOJI AGAIN

└ user15 march 6th album day is gonna destroy us

liked by user1, user2 and 15,093 others

stylesupdates Harry talking about Kiss All the Time, Disco Occasionally with Zane Lowe "A lot of the album was inspired by my relationship. When you’re around someone who lives life at that pace , the racing world, the travel, the noise, it changes the way you write."

He also talked about meeting YN’s family and being around Formula 1: "It’s a completely different universe. I remember going to my first race and thinking, ‘this is insane.’ But her family made it feel very normal very quickly. They’re very loud, very competitive, very funny."

When asked about the piano ballad, Harry smiled and said: "I did have a bit of help from someone who spends a lot of time around pianos… you might recognize him."

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user1 YOU MIGHT RECOGNIZE HIM??????

user2 SIR JUST SAY CHARLES

user3 THIS IS NOT SUBTLE

user4 charles leclerc on a harry styles song was not on my bingo card

user5 the f1 x pop music cinematic universe is real

user6 the way he talked about her family is actually cute 😭

user7 “very loud very competitive very funny” yeah that tracks

user8 imagine dating someone and suddenly you’re hanging out with formula 1 drivers

user9 harry going from stadium tours to the paddock is wild

user10 also the piano comment HELLO

user11 that is 100% charles

user12 he literally said “you might recognize him” like we don’t know

user13 arthur is somewhere screaming

user14 charles acting casual this whole rollout makes sense now

user15 the album being inspired by yn 🥹

user16 this is actually the cutest crossover ever

user17 march 6th cannot come fast enough

user18 i just know that piano ballad is gonna destroy us

liked by user1, user2 and 29,495 others

f1gossip DID CHARLES AND ALEX JUST GET MARRIED???

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user1 WAIT HELLO????

user2 THE FLOWERS????

user3 WHY ARE THEY DRESSED LIKE THAT

user4 charles leclerc secret wedding wasn’t on my bingo card today

user5 this looks suspiciously like newly married behavior

user6 if he actually got married and didn’t tell us 😭

user7 the ferrari is killing me like of course

user8 no bc alex with the flowers is VERY bride coded

user9 someone confirm this immediately

user10 okay but real question where was harry

user10 WAS HARRY THERE

user11 STOP I DIDN’T EVEN THINK ABOUT HARRY BEING THERE

user12 imagine harry styles at charles leclerc’s wedding 😭

user13 yn probably caught the bouquet or something

user14 arthur crying somewhere

user15 lando definitely would’ve posted if this happened

user16 if this is real the paddock groupchat is going insane

user17 charles really said “race season starts soon better get married”

user18 i need answers immediately

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liked by alexandramalenaleclerc, harrystyles and 798,482 others

yn.leclerc MY BABIES GOT MARRIED !! 🤍💐 so so happy for you both. and yes before anyone asks , harry did perform for their first dance. you’ll get that song on march 6th 🪩

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user1 MY BABIES????? 😭

user2 THEY LOOK SO HAPPY

user3 WAIT SO THE FIRST DANCE SONG IS FROM THE ALBUM???

user4 march 6th lore just got deeper

alexandramalenaleclerc love you 🤍 thank you for everything

└ yn.leclerc always

charles_leclerc thank you for today. and thank you @/harrystyles for the song 🤍

└ user5 CHARLES THANKING HARRY I’M EMOTIONAL

└ user6 bro really had harry styles sing at his wedding

└ harrystyles Honored 🤍

user7 HARRY BEING POLITE IN THE COMMENTS AGAIN

lando i can’t believe i wasn’t invited.

└ user8 LANDO 😭

carlossainz55 Congrats to you both

alex_albon congratulations !!

user9 drivers in the comments like proud uncles

arthur_leclerc best day ever.

└ user10 arthur living his best life

user11 okay but WHICH SONG

user12 march 6th cannot come fast enough

user13 this family is literally living in a romcom

user14 harry styles singing at a leclerc wedding… yeah we lost the plot

liked by arthur_leclerc, harrystyles and 802,530 others

yn.leclerc ITS KISSCO WEEK !!! 💋🪩 after months of secrets, captions that apparently no one noticed, and arthur interrogating me daily… the album is finally coming. Kiss All the Time, Disco Occasionally out march 6th 🤍 very excited. very proud. also slightly scared of what the groupchat will look like that day.

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user1 KISSCO WEEK IS REAL

user2 “captions that apparently no one noticed” WE NOTICED 😭

user3 arthur interrogating her daily is killing me

user4 this album rollout has been so chaotic i love it

user5 march 6th is gonna change lives

charles_leclerc Do you know it’s also race week?

└ user6 CHARLES LMAOOO

└ yn.leclerc we don’t care.

└ user7 SHE SAID WE

└ user8 yn choosing violence again

└ lando BABE?????

└ user9 lando hurt as always

arthur_leclerc FINALLY SOMEONE IS TAKING THIS SERIOUSLY.

└ user10 arthur acting like the album is a global event

georgerussell63 Race week actually

alex_albon Charles has a point

user11 I LOVE THIS FAMILY 😭

user12 drivers vs yn in the comments again

harrystyles Big week 💋

user13 HARRY JUST WATCHING THE CHAOS

user14 kissco week vs race week is my favorite storyline

user15 yn leclerc you will pay for the captions eventually

user16 march 6th cannot come fast enough

liked by user1, user2 and 21,943 others

paddockupdates Charles Leclerc talking about his sister YN and Harry Styles’ upcoming album Kiss All the Time, Disco Occasionally during media day today 😭

When asked about race week, Charles joked: "Honestly I think my sister is more excited about the album coming out than the first race of the season. Which… I don’t fully appreciate considering what I do for a living. She’s been talking about it for months. Every time I see her she says something like ‘you’ll understand when you hear it.’ So now I’m curious."

He also addressed the piano ballad rumors from the album: "I’ve heard one of the songs, yes. The piano ballad people keep asking about. It’s very good actually. But I think that’s all I’m allowed to say before I get in trouble."

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user1 “i don’t fully appreciate considering what i do for a living” 😭

user2 he sounds personally offended

user3 SHE’S BEEN TEASING HIM TOO???

user4 “you’ll understand when you hear it” yn is evil

user5 HE CONFIRMED THE PIANO BALLAD AGAIN

user6 sir HOW have you heard it

user7 “before i get in trouble” WITH WHO???

user8 harry definitely told him not to spoil anything

user9 the way he keeps bringing up the piano is suspicious

user10 i still think charles is on the track

user11 this family keeps leaking album lore accidentally

user12 yn more excited about the album than race week is sending me

user13 arthur probably screaming watching this interview

user14 march 6th cannot come soon enough

user15 the paddock being part of the rollout is so funny

user16 charles leclerc pop music correspondent

user17 someone check the groupchat immediately

user18 this crossover is unreal

liked by yn.leclerc, charles_leclerc and 6,094,219 others

harrystyles Kiss All the Time, Disco Occasionally Out now.

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user1 ITS OUT ITS OUT ITS OUT

user2 EVERYONE STAY CALM

user3 I’M ALREADY ON TRACK 4

user4 THIS ALBUM IS INSANE

user5 THE PIANO BALLAD??? HELLO???

user6 I NEED A MOMENT

user7 harry you changed my life again

yn.leclerc so proud of you 🤍

└ user8 YN COMMENTING I’M CRYING

arthur_leclerc I’M LISTENING RIGHT NOW.

user9 ARTHUR 😭

charles_leclerc Congrats. Great album.

└ user10 CHARLES BEING CASUAL ABOUT IT

user11 sir do you actually play the piano in coming up roses or not

lorenzotl Arthur has been quiet for five minutes i’m concerned

└ user12 LORENZO 😭

user13 THIS COMMENT SECTION IS CHAOS

user14 THE LECLERC FAMILY LISTENING LIVE

user15 this rollout was legendary

user16 album of the year already idc

user17 march 6th officially a holiday

user18 NOW ITS RACE TIME

liked by yn.leclerc, harrystyles and 2,094,583 others

charles_leclerc Coming Up Roses 🌹 Very honored to have played a small part on this one. And even more special that it was the song for our first dance 🤍 Thank you @/harrystyles

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user1 HE CONFIRMED IT.

user2 CHARLES LECLERC ON A HARRY STYLES SONG?????

user3 COMING UP ROSES IS THE PIANO BALLAD?????

user4 THE WEDDING SONG TOO I’M CRYING

user5 this crossover just reached a new level

user6 sir you’ve been teasing this for WEEKS

yn.leclerc finally you can say it 🙂

└ user7 YN KNEW THE WHOLE TIME

arthur_leclerc I KNEW IT.

arthur_leclerc I SAID IT.

arthur_leclerc NO ONE LISTENED TO ME.

user8 arthur vindicated 😭

alexandramalenaleclerc our song 🤍

└ user9 ALEX COMMENTING STOP

user10 the first dance being a harry styles song with charles on piano is crazy romantic

lando okay that’s actually very cool.

└ user11 lando giving approval 😭

carlossainz55 Very nice mate

georgerussell63 Didn’t know you were hiding this talent

alex_albon New career unlocked

user12 drivers treating this like a recital again

harrystyles Thank you for playing on it 🤍

user13 THIS COMMENT SECTION IS INSANE

user14 coming up roses just became everyone’s favorite track

user15 the leclerc x harry universe is unmatched

user16 history was made

yn.leclerc what a weekend. honestly still trying to process it.

Kiss All the Time, Disco Occasionally is finally out after months of secrets, teasing captions, and arthur interrogating me in the family groupchat every single day 🪩

getting to watch h make this album and finally seeing everyone hear it this weekend has been really special. i’m very very proud 🤍

and somehow at the same time it was the first race weekend of the season… which ended with charles on the podium. so yes, this weekend included dancing in the paddock, listening to the album on repeat, and screaming during the last laps.

i’d say that’s a pretty good way to start the year

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user1 “arthur interrogating me in the family groupchat” 😭

user2 THIS WEEKEND WAS INSANE

user3 album release + podium weekend

user4 yn living in two universes at once

user5 march 6th weekend delivered

charles_leclerc Good weekend.

└ user6 CHARLES THAT’S SO DRY 😭

└ yn.leclerc proud of you.

arthur_leclerc BEST WEEKEND EVER.

└ user7 arthur having the time of his life

lando still think the album got more attention.

└ user8 LANDO INSTIGATING AGAIN

alex_albon nice one 👏

user9 drivers showing up in the comments again

alexandramalenaleclerc perfect weekend 🤍

user10 alex and yn proud family club

harrystyles Proud of you both

└ user11 HARRY BEING SUPPORTIVE

user12 this family’s life is actually insane

user13 kissco week + race week crossover completed

The fluorescent lights of Family Video buzzed with a low, persistent hum that sounded suspiciously like a dying wasp; it set Steve Harrington's teeth on edge. This was his personal purgatory.

Outside, Tuesday's humidity pressed against the windows in heavy waves. Inside, the air felt thick enough to chew, damp with the scent of old popcorn, industrial floor wax, and a musty undertone from decades of old VHS cases. In the back office, Keith, the annoying ass manager, sat behind a desk with the door ajar, tearing through a bag of Cheetos. Each crunch echoed like a distant gunshot, annoying Steve even more.

Steve stood alone in the Horror aisle, gripping a wobbling stack of The Evil Dead tapes. The cardboard spines crinkled under his fingers, red and black, blood-splashed, a woman's face frozen in a silent scream. He stared at that cover art as though it spoke directly to him, felt a spiritual kinship with the terror it depicted. He fucking hated this job. He hated the scratchy, unfashionable green vest strangling his chest, the way it clung to his sweat-slicked skin. Most of all, he hated how his life had capsized in the last six months.

He was supposed to be "The King" of Hawkins High, worshiped by status, cruising in his BMW convertible, in command of every hallway. Instead he was restocking dusty VHS tapes for minimum wage, while Nancy Wheeler roamed around town smooching with Jonathan Byers, the camera-click weirdo who stalked his ex–girlfriend from behind bushes. The thought of Jonathan Byers left a bitter tang in Steve's mouth, like he'd just swallowed battery acid. It made no damn sense. Nancy had abandoned his beautiful hair, nice car, and great status for a guy who wore flannel and photo-bombed squirrels.

In response, Steve had turned into a living fortress of cynicism. His once-fluid charm had ossified into jagged spikes of sarcasm. He was mean. He snapped at customers, brushed off Robin's entertaining chit-chat, and dated a rotating roster of bimbos he didn't care about—just to prove there was still something dangerous and untouchable under that perfect hair.

"Steve!" Robin's voice sliced through the quiet, coming from the front counter. "Stop glaring at inventory! If you melt the plastic with your frown, Keith's taking it out of your paycheck."

Steve clenched his jaw until his molars clicked. He didn't bother looking up. "Shut up, Robin! I'm working. Or I would be, if you'd stop barking orders across the store like a sea hag!"

"A fishwife?" Robin chuckled, leaning against the counter with a raised eyebrow. "That's a new one. Watched that in a movie you never rented?"

His chest tightened. "I'm going to kill her," he muttered under his breath.

Steve spun on his heel, the Evil Dead tapes tiled in his arms. He barreled down the aisle without looking ahead, every muscle braced for confrontation. 

Crash.

The impact was a solid thud, knocking the wind from his lungs. Tapes flew from his grip, boxes scattering and skittering across the floor in a thunder of plastic. A spine cracked off, flopping like a fallen bird. 

Steve's temper ignited, wildfire in his chest. "Jesus Christ! Watch where you're fucking—"

His insult died on his tongue. He froze, mid-snarl, his voice strangled off by a sudden absence of hostility. Because he wasn't looking at an overweight negligent kid ready for a shove. He was looking at an angel.

She lay on the floor, having tumbled backward among the wreckage of horror franchises. Her legs were splayed, one knee grazing a cassette labeled Evil Dead II. She wore a sundress of pale pink, its fabric soft and flowing around her calves. Her hair fell in gentle, natural manner. 

Then Steve's gaze dropped to the wreckage beside her: her glasses. One lens lay shattered, its cracks fanning out like spider legs. The slender wire frame was twisted at a grotesque angle. 

He stood there with his mouth half-open. The girl scrambled to her knees, but didn't scream. Didn't demand a manager. Instead, she looked up at him with a soft, devastated gasp.

"Oh my god," she breathed, voice ringing like wind chimes caught in a summer breeze. "I'm so, so sorry! I wasn't looking—I turned too fast and I didn't see you!"

Every defensive and asshole-y instinct dissolved in the warmth of her apology. He tried to form words. "I..." His brain had ground to a halt.

She reached forward, slender fingers trembling as she hovered over the scattered tapes. "Did I break them? Please tell me I didn't break them. I can pay for them. I'm so clumsy.."

The sight of her worry ripped something open inside him. Without thinking, he knelt down beside her, bringing himself to her level with a thud of denim-covered knees.

"No," he blurted, voice cracking and rising an octave. He cleared his throat violently. "It's... the tapes are fine. Plastic. Garbage. Total garbage. Don't worry about it."

His hand shot out at the same moment hers reached for a tape. Their fingers brushed. Her skin was warm and smooth, carrying a faint scent of vanilla and strawberries, a sublime, relieving contrast to the stale popcorn and waxed floor. 

She looked from the tape to his hand, then back up at his face, teeth nibbling her lower lip. "Are you sure? You look... angry. I didn't mean to make you angry. You were yelling so loud."

He swallowed hard, breath ragged. "I... I'm not mad." His chest fluttered with panic and something else, something like hope. "I'm Steve."

Oh god. "I'm Steve," he repeated in his head, mentally slapping himself. Real smooth, Harrington. 

The girl's lips curved in a gentle, apologetic smile that softened the panic in her eyes. "I'm Y/N."

"Y/N," he echoed, tasting the name on his tongue. It fit her, very delicate, beautiful.

Y/N glanced at the broken frames in her hand, guilt washing over her face. "Oh. My glasses."

Steve's gut wrenched. "I... I broke them. I stepped on them. I ran into you."

She shook her head, tucking her hair behind one ear. "No, no. It's my fault. I shouldn't have dropped them. And they were so ugly, I never liked wearing them." She squinted at him without her lenses, brow furrowing in earnest concern. "You look a bit blurry, Steve. But a very tall blur... with great hair, I think."

Her compliment, shrugged off so casually, sent a jolt through Steve's chest. He cleared his throat. "Right. Hair." He shifted awkwardly. "I—uh—can help with the titles. If you want. Since you can't see."

Her eyes lit up, radiant as sunrise. "Would you? That would be amazing. I'm looking for The Princess Bride. I promised my little sister we'd watch it tonight."

"Right, yes.. Princess Bride," he muttered, standing and offering her a hand. She placed her palm in his.. it felt small, trusting. He hauled her upright with a gentle tug. She stumbled forward, her chest brushing against his vest. A wave of strawberry-vanilla warmth surged through him again, and he had to step back, as if burned.

"It's over here," he said, voice tight, leading her to the Romance section. His steps were stiff, nervous as burning hell, heart hammering against his ribs. He pointed to a shelf lined with pastel-colored spines and frilly script. "Here."

She stepped close, attempting to read the label, then pressed the tape to her chest like a treasure. "Perfect," she sighed. "Thank you, Steve. You're a lifesaver."

She turned and drifted toward the front counter, her pink dress brushing the floor in whisper-soft folds. The bell above the door jingled a bright farewell, and then she was gone.

Steve remained rooted in the aisle for a full ten seconds, staring at the empty space where she'd stood. His mind raced. It felt as though a freight train had plowed through his chest, in the best possible way.

"Jesus Christ," he whispered, running a hand through his perfectly tousled hair.

He squared his shoulders and marched to the front. Robin stood at the register, ringing up Y/N's purchase. The girl was counting out change with a careful precision. Once the bell tinkled and Y/N stepped into the humid afternoon, Robin slowly turned and fixed Steve with a flat, knowing stare.

Steve collapsed against the counter, arms crossed, picking up a magazine as a feeble cover. "What?"

Robin pointed a pen at him like a rapier. "What was that?"

He flipped a page without reading it. "I was helping a customer. It's called customer service, Robin. Maybe you should try it sometime, might keep Keith from breathing down your neck."

"Customer service?" Robin's laugh was soft but mocking. "You looked like you were about to bust on the spot. You were stuttering—'I'm... Steve?' 'Right... hair?' Seriously, are you having a stroke?"

Heat blossomed in his ears. "I didn't stutter. She broke her glasses. I felt bad. That's all."

"Uh-huh," Robin said, leaning forward so her voice dropped to a conspiratorial hiss. "Last time you looked that sweaty and desperate, Nancy Wheeler was carrying a tray of tater tots across the cafeteria."

Nancy's name was like a slap to his face. His jaw snapped shut, mean-guy Steve crashing back in. "Shut up," he growled, yanking a pricing gun from the counter and slamming it down so the spring clicked. "Don't say her name."

Robin shrugged. "Just saying, for a guy who claims he's done with 'feelings' and 'romance,' you looked like a puppy who found a new owner. It was funny, Harrington."

"I said shut up, Robin!" Steve barked, jabbing a finger at her. "She's not my type. At all. Did you see what she was wearing? I would rather kill myself."

"Right," Robin said, rolling her eyes and swiveling back to the register. "The clothes. That's the problem. Maybe you should quit the bimbos and find someone a bit more.. genuine."

Steve glared at her retreating back, then couldn't resist a glance toward the door where Y/N had vanished into the afternoon haze.

He turned back to his work, ripping pricing labels off the roll with more force than required, each tear echoing the tingle still burning in his palm where she'd touched him. 

It hit him, thirty seconds late, just as he slapped the last sticker on a battered copy of The Exorcist: he'd broken her glasses. Steve Harrington, destroyer of eye wear, unapologetic meathead, had trampled some sweet, helpless girl's only way of seeing the goddamn world. And she hadn't even gotten mad. She apologized to him.

What the actual fuck was wrong with him.

He tossed the pricing gun onto the counter, sending it skittering into the register, and scanned the store for Robin. She was half-buried behind a cardboard standee for The Lost Boys, scribbling a crossword. 

He didn't slow, just pushed past her, mumbling, "Hold the fort," and sprinted for the door. The bell shrieked as he exploded onto the sidewalk, heat smacking him in the face, sweat instantly beading upon his forehead.

He caught sight of Y/N immediately, she was only halfway down the block, walking fast but definitely not in a straight line. The broken glasses swung from her hand, their bent arms splayed obscenely, and for a split second he saw himself from above, a total asshole, standing there, letting her walk away with the proof of his idiocy dangling from her fingers.

Robin's voice followed him out, thin and incredulous. "Dude, where are you—"

"Just, hold on!" Steve hollered, not looking back. He jogged, then full-on sprinted, sneakers slapping the hot sidewalk, lungs filling with the soupy, bug-thick air.

"Y/N!" he shouted, and she turned, hair catching on the static of her shoulders.

She smiled, the kind of smile that made his stomach go rigid, like bracing for a punch. "Hi again," Her voice was so gentle it made him anxious.

He took a step closer, then another, until he was well within her personal space, sweat leaking down the side of his face. He tried to remember the apology he'd rehearsed in his head, but the words jumbled together, heavy and awkward.

"Hey," he said, and winced at how breathless it sounded. "I'm sorry. About earlier, I mean..I ran you over, and then I broke your glasses, and you apologized to me, which is, like, insane. I mean, not that you're insane. It's just... You should be yelling at me, not being nice. I was a total jerk. I'm sorry."

Y/N opened her mouth to protest but Steve barreled on, the words tumbling out faster than he could shape them.

"Let me pay for your glasses. Or replace 'em. Or, like, whatever. You don't even have to let me, but if you want, I can do that—" He stopped, realizing he was babbling, and raked a wet hand through his hair. "Look, I can drive you to the mall or wherever you get new glasses, I can pay. Also, if you want, and it's completely up to you, I could take you out to dinner, like, as an apology, not that you'd want to spend more time with a guy who's already concussed you, but, uh—" He heard himself and wanted to die.

Y/N's head tilted, the way a bird's might: curious, gentle, maybe a little wary. She blinked at him, the world fuzzy behind the cracked lens she held up, and said, "Dinner?"

He nodded, too quickly. "If you want. Or lunch. Or coffee. Or nothing at all," he said, and realized with horror that he was being cringy as hell. "Just, yeah. Sorry."

Y/N held the broken glasses with both hands, her smile turning wry. "My mom is going to kill me. She says I break everything I touch." She shifted her weight, swaying a little in the sticky heat.

He groped for something, anything, to redeem himself. "Hey, you know what?" He reached into his back pocket, fished out a pen, and scrawled his number on the inside cover of her rental box. "If you need to call me about the glasses, or, you know, if you just want to prank call a jerk, that's my direct line. And—" He stopped, uncertain, then plunged ahead. "There's this party Friday? My friend's throwing it. Robin. The girl at the rental. She's actually not the worst, and her parties are kind of legendary, and if you want to go, you're invited. By me. I mean, by Robin too, but, uh, mostly by me."

She took the box from his hands, eyes squinting down at the large, blocky numbers. "Are you always like this?" she asked, a smile threading through her voice.

He grinned, self-deprecating because it was the only move he had left. "I'm trying not to be."

Y/N gave the faintest nod of approval, then tucked his number into the side pocket of her dress. She said, "Friday sounds good. If I don't trip and die before then."

"You won't. I'll make sure of it," he blurted, more earnest than he intended.

She laughed, a short, enthusiastic sound, then turned and walked away. She didn't look back, but Steve stayed locked on her silhouette, smacked by a sensation he refused to name.

Behind him, the bell over the Family Video door shrilled again; Robin leaned halfway out, arms folded, forehead shining with sweat and suspicion. "You good, Harrington?" she called, her tone full of mockery.

He wiped his palm on his vest and sauntered back toward the store, forcing a lopsided grin. "Totally good. Just, uh, customer appreciation. You know how it is."

Robin lifted both brows. "Is that what they're calling stalking now?" She retreated into the cool dimness of the store, letting the door wheeze shut behind her.

-

When he got home, Steve dumped his keys on the counter, grabbed a Budweiser from the fridge, and retreated to the couch, where he could commit himself fully to the task of hating himself. He sprawled, legs splayed, one arm thrown over his eyes. Every ten seconds, his brain replayed the moment in Family Video, like an especially cruel home movie, her voice, the way it had trembled around an apology, her smile when he handed her the tape, the goddamn way his hands wouldn't stop moving. He groaned and wedged the heel of his palm into his forehead. He was a lost cause. 

A little after eleven, just as he was deciding whether to risk another beer or just wallow in his own self-loathing until he passed out, the phone rang. The ancient cordless rang from its wall-mount by the kitchen.

He wiped his hand on his sweats, then grabbed the receiver. "Yeah, hello?"

A pause, soft static. "Um. Hi." 

He instantly straightened up, bracing his forearm against the counter's edge. "Y/N?"

A nervous little laugh, like she was holding her breath. "Sorry, it's late. Is this the right number?"

"Yeah.. yes, hey. It's Steve," he managed, catching his voice before it cracked. He could see himself in the dark panel of the microwave. He leaned into the counter, "You, uh, made it home okay?"

A deep breath on the other end. "Yeah. I just closed my eyes and pretended I was a bat. Bats can't see, but they don't bump into things. Except I did bump into three trash cans." She giggled, a tiny, delighted sound that seemed to ripple along the line. "But I found the front door, so it's a happy ending."

He had to grip the receiver tighter to keep from fidgeting. "Glad you survived."

On the other end, Y/N's breath shivered, like she was afraid to exhale in case it made a sound. "I'm calling because I wanted to... Well, I thought you deserved closure."

Steve blinked. "Closure?" He wasn't sure if she was mad at him or just had a dramatic way of phrasing things. Either way, it tied a knot in his stomach.

"Yes." A pause, then a rush of words: "I wanted to let you know I successfully watched The Princess Bride, and my little sister didn't even notice my glasses were broken, because she's seven and she thinks I'm Wonder Woman. Or Batgirl. Or... Do bats have a girl?" The words tumbled out, crowded together like they were jostling for the same seat.

Steve pressed the phone close, knuckles whitening and a ridiculously big smile peeking. "There's gotta be a Batgirl. Hang on, I'll check the encyclopedia." He heard himself and cringed. Encyclopedia? Like he was some kind of dad. "Or, uh, the next comic book section at the store. I'll let you know."

He could feel her smiling through the wire. "That's considerate," she said. "I'm just glad I didn't break your nose. My mom says if I ever do something like that, they should take away my library card."

He laughed, too loud, then muted it with a cough. He really wanted to ask what her mom would say about fucking an ex-prom king instead, but that sounded like a total HR violation, so he just said, "Glad your sister liked the movie."

"Yeah," Y/N replied. Her voice thinned, like she was backing away even as she talked. "I don't want to keep you, I just... well, never mind. I'm probably being nosy."

He said nothing for a moment, trying to read the silence like it was a clue in a murder case. Sometimes the trick was to just wait people out; sometimes it made everything weirder. "What is it?"

Y/N inhaled, a sound like static. "Do you—would it be okay if we still did the party? On Friday?" She spit it out so fast it took him a second to catch up. "I mean, you don't have to be my handler or anything, but if you wanted to, like, go with me. To the party. Or not. Or—" She laughed.

He almost let it ride out. He almost let her off the hook. But something in her voice, the soft tremor, the way she said "still" as if he'd ever wanted to back out, tripped a switch inside him. "Yeah. Of course. Friday," he said, swallowing back the urge to sound too eager. "I'll pick you up. What time?"

A pause, then: "You don't have to do that. I can walk."

He pictured her, clumsy and careful, weaving through Hawkins' cracked sidewalks with her broken glasses in her pocket and a VHS tape in her hands. He was seized by a sudden, ridiculous urge to follow her around town, and punch anyone who looked at her weird.

"I want to," he said, and felt his heart slamming against his ribs. "It's a date. Or, like, whatever." He winced at the sound of it, but Y/N didn't seem to mind.

"Okay," she said, laughter lilting up through the receiver. "But don't judge me when I wear the ugly glasses. I will glue them tonight. I might look like a bug."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

She lingered, her breath a delicate hush. "Thanks for helping me today. You really didn't have to."

His brain stuttered. The old Steve would've brushed it off. The new one, raw-nerved and jumpy as a stray cat, just nodded into the phone like an idiot. "Yeah, well. You were, um. You were different."

He meant it. He'd spent too many years with girls who only spoke in hyperbole, who clung to be heard, who wore their ambition like lipstick, who never second-guessed. He'd thought that was what he wanted: friction, competition, the thrill of conquest. But Y/N seemed softer, sculpted from contradictions, and it drove him fucking insane.

It wasn't just attraction, it was hunger. Maybe it had been too damn long since he felt real attraction. He didn't even realize how parched he'd been until she filled the air with those shy, trembling giggles. 

He wanted to hear it again.

He found himself grinning like a moron into the receiver. "I'm glad you called, actually," he said, letting his voice go lower, smoother. "I didn't even have a panic attack over it," he said, and immediately regretted voicing it, but Y/N's laugh shimmered across the line.

"You were so calm," she said. "I figured I was the one making you nervous." A pause, as if she couldn't believe she'd said it.

He ran his thumb along the coil of the phone cord, every nerve ending singing. "Yeah, well. Guess I'm not as cool as I look." The words came out before he could fence them in, and he felt the heat crawling up his neck.

A beat. Y/N's breathing, shallow and then steadier, like she was pacing the length of her own bedroom. "I wouldn't know what you look like. You were just this.. shape. And a lot of hair." Her voice was so quiet he barely heard it, and it thrilled him. "I'd say you seemed... nice, if that's not weird to say."

"You can say it," Steve said, and then instantly cringed at the desperation in his own voice.

Y/N hesitated, and for a moment all he heard was the faint squeak of her shifting the phone. "You just... you smelled so good," she finally said, a little breathless.

The line went quiet.

He gripped the receiver hard enough to blanch his knuckles, suddenly aware of everything, the sweat on his neck, and the faint aftershave he'd swiped from his dad's medicine cabinet and probably overdone. It was one thing to be told you had nice hair, or that you were tall; "you smelled so good". He'd never had a girl say that to him. Not with that nervous little edge, like she was embarrassed it slipped out. There was a not-small part of him that wanted to say, "What did I smell like?" just to make her say it again, but the rest of him froze.

He felt himself harden instantly. Fuck. Steve had been through enough late-night calls with girls to know the drill, where way naughtier things were said, but no one had ever short-circuited him like this. He was glad, suddenly, for the darkness in the kitchen, the half-dead bulb over the sink, the heavy blue spill of TV light. He cleared his throat, tried to get his head back under control. He squeezed the phone tighter, his other hand sliding to his lap, fingers pressing hard into the seam of his sweatpants. The muscle at his jaw flexed. This was insane. He was a grown man—well, a legal adult, anyway—yet here he was, tenting his sweats because some girl said he smelled good. Not even a girl he knew, not really. Not even a real compliment; just an innocent slip.

He tried to focus on the conversation, to keep his voice level. "So, uh, do you want me to bring anything? Like, for the party?" His hand moved again, a little firmer. He could feel himself swelling under his palm, heat pooling low and heavy. Jesus. This was like eighth grade, getting off to the smell of his math teacher's perfume, only now it was a real girl, with a name and a phone number and a laugh he could jerk off to for a week. Which, judging from the slow, insistent throb under his fingers, he probably would.

He gripped himself, squeezing through the thin cotton in a way that was half relief, half punishment. The second he did, it hit him: he was getting hard on the fucking telephone. This sweet, innocent girl who was barely an acquaintance, was talking to him about her mother and glasses, and meanwhile he was palming his own dick like a complete pervert.

For a second the thought made him want to slam the receiver down and punch himself in the face. He let out a shallow, shaky breath, and when Y/N spoke again, her voice sounded closer. She said, softly, "Steve, are you still there?"

He swallowed, pulling the phone away an inch to catch his breath, then pressing it close again. "Yeah, I'm here," he said, and the words came out a little raspy, a little too tender. He felt his whole body flush with a guilty excitement, like he'd just gotten away with something. 

He wanted to stop, to will himself back into the cool, detached version of himself he'd be, but he let himself drift on the current, following the impulse deeper. He pressed down, slow and careful, then slipped his hand under the waistband to grip bare skin. The sensation was so intense he almost gasped. He clamped his jaw shut, fighting to keep his breathing normal.

"So, um," Y/N said, and there was a barely-there tremor in her voice, "I was wondering if maybe you knew what the dress code is. I mean, I don't want to show up looking like a dork." She laughed, then seemed to shrink from it, muffling the sound with her hand.

Steve squeezed himself, thumb circling along the slick of pre-cum already leaking at the tip. He stroked, slow and shivery, letting the friction build there. He imagined her biting her lip, hugging a pillow, all excited and flustered talking to him on the phone. He jerked himself slowly, the tip already wet in his grip. 

He should hang up.. He should hang up, take a cold shower, and never speak to a woman again.

Instead he said, "Honestly, just... be yourself. Robin won't even notice. I'll be the one looking like an idiot."

Y/N made a noise, a soft hum that curled under his ribs. "I doubt that," she said. "You don't seem like you'd ever look stupid."

He suppressed a groan by clenching his teeth, rolling his hips against his palm. He was fully hard now, pressing the receiver to his ear with his shoulder and his hand down his pants.

He muttered, "You'd be surprised," and nearly choked on it. His cock was hot and slick in his grip, already throbbing as he worked it slow, careful to keep his breathing steady, lower than the rush in his own ears. He palmed the head, squeezing out another slippery bead and spreading it with his thumb, the wetness making every stroke a little easier, a little more dangerous.

On the other end, Y/N breathed, "Are you okay?" She sounded closer, like she'd moved the phone to her shoulder to free her hands for something else. He tried not to picture her touching herself. But he couldn't help it. 

He stroked, wrists sticky and breath going ragged, but he forced it down, shoulder tensed so hard it cramped. "Listen, Y/N, I—uh." He nearly lost it then, teeth clamping together. "I should let you go. Big day tomorrow at the, uh, video store." His hand jerked once, hard. He needed this to end before he did something really, truly pathetic.

"Oh, okay," she said, and he heard the letdown in her voice, but also relief, like she'd been holding her breath. "I'll see you Friday? Or maybe before."

He grunted, "Yeah. Friday." He wanted to say something more, to reestablish the cool, but his voice was barely holding on. "Okay. Good night," he managed, and slammed the phone onto the cradle. The plastic clatter echoed in the empty house.

He just stood there, hand still wedged tight in his sweats, a pulse in his neck going crazy. His fingers worked in rough, desperate strokes, no rhythm, just a hard, mean need to erase the last five minutes of his own miserable performance. He pictured her, heard her voice, the way she'd said "you smelled so good"—and that was it. He came in his hand, thick ropes of cum, mess pooling sticky on his knuckles and the inside of his waistband. He grunted, shuddered, then pressed his forehead to the cold laminate counter.

He spent most of the next day trawling the mall for something, either flowers, a bearable cologne, maybe a cool watch, anything that would make him seem like he wasn't the kind of guy who jerked off to phone calls. He needed to feel like his old, nonchalant self. By Thursday, they'd talked again and again, for hours. If Wednesday's call was bad, Thursday's was a war crime. He'd called her after his shift, voice gruff with fatigue, and had lasted all of four minutes before she'd said his name in that soft, seducing way and his hand was back down his pants. He'd managed to keep his voice steady this time, mostly, but the last five minutes were a blur of raw nerves and half-gasps. When he'd finally let go of the receiver he'd been dizzy with relief and shame. He started to worry that she knew. That she could hear it in his voice, or in the way he went off the rails or got quiet at the wrong moment. That she could sense, through the wire, that he was a freak. Maybe she was just too polite to call him out. Maybe she liked it. Maybe she was doing the same thing, on the other end, tucked under sheets with her legs pressed together and her breath going shaky whenever he said something almost nice. 

He showed up at her house on Friday at 6:59 p.m. sharp. He'd spent an hour circling the neighborhood, he didn't want to be early, didn't want to look overeager, but he also didn't want to risk being late. The BMW gleamed, detailed and waxed within an hour of neurotic spit-polishing; the windows practically blinded him, the interior smelled like a cologne commercial and fresh vinyl. His hair was perfectly arranged. He'd changed shirts three times, landed on a navy blue polo under his favorite blue Members Only jacket. The second he parked in front of her house, his heart rate tripled.

The place looked like every other house in Hawkins. He checked his breath in the mirror, popped a Certs, then killed the ignition and strode up the walk as if he wasn't five seconds from throwing up on her doorstep.

The door swung open before he hit the bell. And then she was there.

Steve's mouth went dry. For a horrible, vertiginous second, he didn't recognize her. She had on a white dress, he'd say it was a dress, but really, it was more like a white t-shirt with ambitions. It hung soft and tight and criminally short, the hem grazing her thighs in a way that made his mouth water. Her legs were bare, her feet in strappy, off-white sandals, and all her toenails were lacquered a pale pink. 

"Sorry I'm late, my mom decided she had to interrogate me about my entire life. Also, I got contacts instead!”

He opened his mouth to say something, he wasn't sure what, maybe a joke or a dumb comment about her dress, but nothing came out. All he could think was: I want to fuck her, I want to ruin her, I want to destroy her. He felt it low, a throb in his stomach, the old animal urge he used to channel so easily in the backseats of cars, in tiny bathrooms at parties, but now he was so nervous, and oh, so fucking horny. He tried to play it cool, shoved his hands in his pockets, offered a lopsided, "Hey, yourself."

For a half-second, they just stared at each other. Steve couldn't stop cataloging the details: the line of her collarbone, the shimmer of sunscreen on her shoulders, the way she hid her hands behind her back, unconsciously pushing her tits his way. 

He couldn't help it. His brain, greedy and abject, went right for the worst version of the memory: her sprawled on the Family Video linoleum, legs tangled in the soft pink dress, one knee bare and the skin above it flushed and perfect; the way her hands had trembled, the way her voice had snagged on every word. He imagined her like that now, only with the white dress rucked up around her hips, hair shaken loose, glasses somewhere on the ground. He pictured himself over her, holding her narrow wrists to the carpet while she gasped and arched up and said his name, and it was so real it hurt. He wanted to fuck her until she went breathless, until she cried, until she clawed for something to hold and found only him. He wanted to wreck her, to own her, to pin her down and never let another guy touch her again.

Fuck, he was in for it. Steve Harrington was losing it.

The party was already in full swing when they rolled up to Robin's place. Buckley's had always been the perfect party spot, part because Robin's parents were "emotionally divorced" and spent weekends at their separate condos in Indy, and part because the street was just far enough from downtown Hawkins that no one called the cops unless someone pissed in the neighbor's mailbox. Steve parked three blocks away, pretending it was for the exercise, but really buying himself time to get his pulse under control.

The windows pulsed with sub woofer light, and somewhere on the second story a window had been kicked open so hard the frame hung at a 15-degree tilt. The porch was already packed with bodies—everything from lacrosse guys, a few art-school kids, Robin's friends from the rental store, a handful of dropouts and even some of the bimbos Steve had been on dates with weeks ago.

The house was a haze of moving limbs and spilled liquor. Someone had popped every light bulb in the living room except the Christmas stringers, which pulsed an eerie green over a forest of red solo cups. The air reeked of weed, tobacco smoke, and the tang of spiked punch.

Robin found them immediately. Her hair was in pigtails and she'd drawn a blue star on her cheek with Sharpie, like she was the host of a dystopian game show. Robin flung her arms wide, "Harrington!" she crowed, then, with a conspiratorial wink, "And... the girl from today! Come. Come come come."

She summoned them into the epicenter, ignoring the way Y/N clung to Steve's arm like a life preserver. "You made it!," Robin said, bouncing on the balls of her feet. "You look—" She paused, eyeing Y/N dress, then Steve's jacket, then Y/N's face again. Steve could see the calculation in Robin's eyes, the way she was already rewriting the evening's narrative to squeeze the most juice from it. "It's perfect for you. Love your dress by the way," 

Y/N blushed, reached for Steve's hand automatically. "It's a little much, sorry—"

"No, don't," Robin said, looping an arm through Y/N, dragging her into the kitchen with a confidence that brooked no rebuttal. "It's perfect. Harrington, take notes—you're in the minor leagues now." She winked, then plucked a bottle of tequila from the counter, held it aloft like she'd just landed the Olympic torch.

Steve lagged a step behind, almost tripped by his own shoelaces. He saw as Y/N let Robin pour her a solo cup of poison.

Steve watched the tequila slosh, the way Robin over poured "to the brim, for luck," and then topped the cup with a wedge of lime. "We're doing shots, obviously," Robin declared, "but not, like.. normal ones. This is a party, not church. We are going to do body shots, like God intended."

Steve choked on his own breath. "Uh, no, we're not. We don't even have salt. Or limes. Or... bodies," he blurted. He could feel his face going red even as everyone else just grinned and cheered like this was Christmas come early.

Robin grinned, her teeth sharp in the light. "Wow, Harrington's suddenly shy," she announced to the kitchen, and then, to Y/N: "But his abs are, statistically, the eighth wonder of modern Hawkins. We're doing this." She slammed the tequila down, seized a salt shaker from the back of the stove, and produced a lime from some pocket of chaos. With a flourish, she arranged everything on the counter top: salt, orange plastic shot glasses, a tangle of cut limes. "Y/N, sweetie, you ever done a body shot?"

Y/N blinked, looked at Steve, then at the counter top, then back at Steve. "I don't know," she said, voice small but not scared. "I mean, no. Not really."

"Great!" Robin crowed. "Harrington, shirt off."

The kitchen went insane.

Steve's stomach dropped, but he couldn't back down. Come on, this used to be his usual. But he felt nervous, especially with Robin grinning like the devil and Y/N standing there, blinking up at him like he was some sort of Greek God. He steeled himself, hooked his thumbs under the hem of his shirt, and peeled it off in one clean motion. Cold air licked his skin. A few people in the back whistled and some girls whispered to each other ungodly things. He tossed the shirt at the counter, flexed without meaning to.

Robin lined up the first shot. "Rules are simple," she slurred, waggling her eyebrows at Y/N: "Lick, sip, suck. Steve, you're the body. Y/N, you're—well. You're about to have a life-changing experience."

He watched Y/N's face as she nodded, eyes huge and glassy in the Christmas lights. She stepped forward, standing close enough that Steve could see the flush working its way up her chest, blotting her collarbone pink under the white dress. Robin handed Y/N a shot glass. "You know the drill," Robin said, voice dropping to a private register. "Salt, lick, drink, suck. Start on the abs. Go low."

Y/N's face went up in flames, but her hands were steady as she took the salt shaker. Robin leaned in, whispering something, then dusted a thin, crystalline line just below Steve's ribs, right above the waistband of his jeans. Steve felt the cold grit hit his skin, felt every eye in the room burn into him. His cock stirred against the denim, as alive as it can be. He tried to think unsexy thoughts, but every time he looked at Y/N, the urge came back, harder now—he wanted to toss her over his shoulder, carry her to some unused corner, and bite her neck until her knees gave out. He gripped the counter top and waited, heart in his throat.

Y/N stepped closer, squinting at the salt line as if she needed to do it right, even as Robin and half the kitchen hooted and egged her on. She bent at the waist—fuck, her hair smelled like warm vanilla—and pressed her lips just below his navel, tongue darting out to lap the salt. Her mouth was soft and wet on his skin, and something primal in Steve's gut snapped. He barely heard the cheers. The sensation ricocheted straight to his cock, which flexed up against his zipper so hard it hurt.

Next was the shot. Y/N tossed it back, half the tequila spilling down her chin. She softly coughed, and wiped her lips with the back of her hand. Then, as if on cue, she reached for the lime wedge Robin had wedged in the waistband of Steve's jeans, right above the button, just on the V of his hipbone. Her fingers grazed the skin, feather-light, but the cold rush of citrus and the heat at her touch sent a current through his entire spine. For a split second her knuckles pressed into the base of his stomach. He bit down so hard on the inside of his cheek he tasted blood. She took the lime in her teeth, and for a second lingered there, her face inches from his cock, breath warm on his skin, before she popped upright, giggling out the sour, sticky juice.

The kitchen howled. Steve's head swam, everything bright and stat-icky. He couldn't move; his abs were still flexed, hard, salt stinging where she'd licked him. He'd never felt more like a hunk of meat, and he'd never been more ready to let someone eat him alive.

It was supposed to be a goofy party trick. But obviously, it wasn't. He watched her, dazed, as she licked the last of the salt from her upper lip, then met his gaze and innocently smiled with a wet, trembling mouth.

Robin cackled and slammed her palms on the table. "See? That wasn't so bad! Who's next?" The kitchen erupted, a dozen hands shot in the air.

He barely noticed. He was too busy watching Y/N, with her cheeks flushed, eyes glazed and wild and overwhelmed by the heat working up her throat and into her face. She still had the taste of salt and Steve's skin on her tongue, and it was making her knees weak in a way she'd never admit.

Robin pulled Y/N her into a hug, sweat and tequila and vanilla and strawberry gluing them together in a messy, giggly tangle. "You're a natural!" Robin whispered in her ear. "And for the record, everyone in this room wishes you'd licked them instead."

Robin's grip loosened just enough for Y/N to stagger back into Steve's orbit. The music churned to a new song, the kitchen crowd already drifting to the next spectacle, but Steve couldn't break eye contact with her if he tried. She glowed, skin shiny with sweat, plump lips parted, breathing shallow. 

He didn't remember deciding to do it. He leaned in, bringing his lips close to her ear, his stomach still sparking from where she'd licked him, and said, "You want to try one?" The words barely made it past his throat, he was so hard he felt like he might black out.

Y/N's eyes darted up to his, wide and momentary, and she nodded. No hesitation, just a hungry little nod like a dare.

He watched her hands. She gripped the edges of the counter behind her, squeezing so tight her knuckles shone through the skin. He heard himself say, "Where do you want it?" and when she didn't get it, Robin, ever the provocateur, elbowed her in the ribs and said, "Salt line goes wherever you want, babe. Classic is the cleavage shot. If you're brave."

Y/N's gaze dropped to her chest, then flicked to Robin, then to Steve. The tips of her ears went scarlet. She squared her shoulders and, in a motion at once hesitant and absurdly decisive, yanked the front of her dress down an inch, baring the soft valley between her breasts. She looked up at him, wide-eyed, and said, "Let's do it."

He heard the word in triplicate, echoing in his chest. Robin was already at her side, fingers quick and businesslike, shaking a thin bead of salt between Y/N's tits, her hands surprisingly gentle. Y/N's skin flinched under the touch, but she didn't pull away. She kept her chin tucked, her mouth pressed in a line so tight her lips nearly vanished.

Robin glanced at Steve, raised her eyebrows, and telepathically told him good luck, Harrington,  and then poured the shot, steady, "Go," Robin whispered, and faded back into the kitchen, already shouting for the next round.

Steve blinked. He had done this before, a hundred times, but never like this. Fuck, never, ever like this.

He bent down, drew her in with a hand at the small of her back, and licked the salt like he meant it, slow and hot, just at the base of her cleavage. The taste hit him all at once—skin, salt, and the faint edge of her yummy perfume—and for a second, he thought he might actually lose control right there in front of the whole kitchen. He reached for the shot, eyes locked on hers, and tossed it back. The tequila burned, bright and immediate, and then he went for the lime wedge dangling between her knuckles.

She held it up, pinched between thumb and finger, but her hand was barely steady. He didn't just bite the lime, he let his lips graze her fingers, tongue flicking over her skin for one illicit, hungry moment. 

He barely registered the kitchen cheering, the sting of tequila in his throat, the sticky neon of the Christmas lights. There was nothing but her.. the salt-sweat on her skin, the lime braced between her fingers, the way she breathed when he leaned in. He wanted to press his mouth to the hollow at the base of her neck and taste every inch of her, slow. 

Robin was gone, the kitchen crowd surging elsewhere, the party's center of gravity shifting. Steve and Y/N stood together at the edge of the counter top, two empty shot glasses and a wedge of lime between them. For a moment neither of them moved.

Steve watched her. Her body quivered with leftover adrenaline, and her eyes, ringed with tears from the lime, locked on Steve's with a naked, hungry intensity that caught him very off guard.

He tried to say something. Anything. His brain coughed up only static. She just stared at him, jaw set, wet mouth parted, like she was daring him to move first. She swayed a little in place, the white dress clinging to her, and Steve saw—he knew, with the certainty of a thousand locker room stories—what she was feeling. She wanted. It was so obvious he felt it like a punch in the kidney. His own body responded, vicious and instant.

He tracked how her legs shifted, how she squeezed her thighs together, how her breaths got short and fast, and how she held his gaze so steady he couldn't look away. Every instinct screamed at him to grab her. Every instinct screamed at him to move.

Instead he stood there, paralyzed, heart slamming so hard he felt it in the tops of his feet.

Y/N blinked, once, slow, then reached for him. Her palm landed flat against his chest. No testing, no hesitation. She pressed, and he yielded, letting her push him back against the fridge. The handle jabbed into his hip. The cold tightened something in his gut. He waited. He was trembling and trying to hide it, and she leaned in, so close her breath hit his mouth. She didn't kiss him. Not yet.

"Steve," she said, so quietly he barely caught it over the kitchen's noise. He blinked at her, trying to focus, to re-calibrate. Her hand slid up, fingers splayed against his bare chest.

She leaned in. Her lips didn't quite touch his ear, but her breath was hot on his jaw. "I need to get out of here."

He nodded, a violent jerk, already reaching for her wrist. He was ready to drag her straight out the front door, but she only pressed closer, voice a tremor: "I'm sorry, I just—" She laughed, a nervous, biting little sound. "I think I'm a bit.. wet."

Steve's brain short-circuited. For a half-second he was back in his kitchen, clutching the phone with one hand and his cock with the other, hearing her say his name, the way she'd whispered "Steve" like it was a secret. But now her voice was pressed to the side of his face, and her body was mashed up against every inch of him, and he was so fucking hard it felt like his cock was going to slice through his jeans. 

He didn't ask where. He didn't have to. Steve took her hand and wove through the crush of bodies in the living room, the kitchen, the stairs, as if they were conjoined at the wrist. He made for the only place in Robin's house that wasn't already stuffed full of people, or garbage, or the smell of weed and spilled soda. The bathroom: second floor, back left, the one with the broken lock.

He shouldered the door open, nearly knocking the loose towel rack off its screws, and barely got it shut before Y/N was crowding in after him, her face alive with raw and startled need.

The bathroom was as ugly as Steve remembered: green shag rug, crusted toothpaste in the sink, a single 40-watt bulb casting headache shadows across the yellowed linoleum. They barely fit inside it together. But as soon as the latch clicked, Y/N was on him, hands fisted in the waistband of his jeans, mouth searching. She kissed with the frantic, open-mouthed hunger. Steve bent down, kissing back, nipping her lower lip, tasting tequila and salt and the faint trace of her lip gloss.  He pressed her against the lip of the vanity, hands greedy as a mugger, and she let him, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him until he saw stars.

He tugged her dress up—she made a sound, half gasp, half laugh, and let him, until the fabric bunched around her waist and her bare legs pressed hard against his hips. The pink cotton panties under the dress were already soaked through, and when he slipped his hand between her thighs she shuddered, digging her short, painted nails into his back. He was barely thinking at all.

She pushed his hand away, palms flat and insistent, then dropped to her knees so fast it knocked the air out of his chest. For a second he just stared at her, holy fucking stunned—does she even know how to suck a guy off? Steve thought. She bit her lip, looked up at him, breath ragged. "Can I?" she said, so quietly he almost missed it.

He didn't answer. He couldn't. He hooked a hand behind her skull, not rough, just needing to feel the shape of her, the weight of her, the way her neck tapered to her shoulder, and tried not to shake as she yanked his jeans and underwear down below his ass.

Y/N's fingers wrapped around his cock, and the heat of it almost undid him. She stared, close enough he could feel the air from her nostrils, and for a second he thought she might just hold it and look, but then her lips parted, tongue flicking out, tasting from the base up to the tip with a steady lap. Her mouth was warm and greedy, lips slicked with spit, tongue raking the underside, and then she just fucking swallowed him—no hesitation, just took the head right between her lips and held him there, eyes shut, cheeks hollowing. Steve's vision blacked out for a second. She wasn't careful, wasn't slow at all, and he could feel every inch of her: the edge of her teeth, the roof of her mouth, the wet smack of her lips, the crazy little noises she made in her throat. 

Steve always considered himself picky with blowjobs. But saying he was surprised it's an understatement. Y/N seemed a full-blown maniac for the way she used her tongue, the way she pressed her nails into the backs of his thighs, the way she kept eye contact even as her mascara started to run. Steve couldn't breathe; his hands clamped the edge of the sink so hard his knuckles went bloodless.

He'd never seen anything like it. Her cheeks hollowed, jaw flexing, and she went deeper, then deeper again, until the flare of his cock head pressed against the back of her throat. She gagged, but instead of stopping she growled, an inhuman sound, and he nearly came right then. He looked down at her, her lips stretched, her hair falling in her eyes, her hands working in a twisting rhythm at the base—and she looked right back at him, her lashes wet, daring him to lose it. 

He tried to last. He really did. He thought of dead dogs, of geometry, of the ugly ass green shag rug under his sneakers, but her mouth was relentless. She sucked him with a rhythm that bordered on cruel, using her hand to twist and squeeze while her tongue lashed and teased and licked. Her other hand cupped his balls, rolling them, squeezing, then sliding back to stroke the strip of skin behind. He almost yelped when she did that, the jolt so raw and bright he had to bite the inside of his wrist to keep from howling. She paused, eyes glittering, and then went down again, deeper than she had any right to. She pulled off just as he felt himself tipping over,and she let him nearly fall into it: the head of his cock pulsing, his jaw clenched so tight he thought his teeth would crack. He shoved her off, just in time,.

Steve grabbed her by the shoulders and yanked her to her feet. She stumbled, knees wobbly, mouth open. He pressed her to the sink, back to the mirror. It was feverish, uncoordinated. His hands found her ass, fingers digging into the soft, warm flesh beneath the hem of her dress, and then he was hoisting her up, perching her right on the edge of the counter.

He didn't ask. He couldn't have, even if he'd tried. The cotton went slick between his fingers when he pulled them aside. Y/N let out a whimper, her thighs spreading obediently. She was shaking, but not from cold; she arched her back, and looked up at him with a hunger that made his knees buckle.

He wanted to make her say his name again.

He gripped his cock, the tip still glossy with spit, and ran it against the damp, slippery entrance of her pussy. She was so wet it was almost stupid. He lined up, pressed the head into her, and she hissed, nails raking his forearm as he pushed inside. She was tight, impossibly so, and he had to pause, just for a second, to keep from sliding in all at once and blowing straight past the edge of control. Y/N clamped around him so tight he almost lost it—her legs around his waist, her heels digging into the backs of his thighs, her hands grabbing at the mirror behind her so hard he heard it creak. He went forward, every thrust rougher, rougher, until her head banged the glass and she gasped his name with every ragged exhale.

Steve braced his palms on either side of her hips, pushing her higher on the counter so the cold porcelain pressed flat to her ass, and he fucked up into her, mean and perfect, desperate to fill her, ruin her, make her remember this every time she looked in the goddamn mirror. He was panting, sweat already slicking across his chest, her knees bruising his ribs.

Steve couldn't stop. The slap of his hips against her bare skin echoed in the little bathroom. He wanted her to hear it, wanted anyone passing in the hall to hear it. He wanted them to know she was fucking the shit out of this beautiful girl.

He found himself talking, words tumbling out, low and rough, nothing like his usual jokes or sarcastic, mean lines. "You like being fucked where anyone could hear you?" He pistoned harder, watching her face go slack, mouth open and wet. "I bet you've never been fucked like this, huh? No, didn't think so."

His own voice got him off, got her off too—she clenched around him, a tremor starting in her thighs and then up her spine, lips shiny and parted and begging for more. He felt her body clamp down, so tight he couldn't move for a heartbeat; she was shaking, trying to ride the edge. Steve pressed his face to her neck and growled. "You want to come? I'll let you if you say you want it."

She tried to answer, but it came out as a sob, a hiccup, a choked, "Steve—" and he shoved in harder, grinding her against the mirror. He could feel her nipples through the thin cotton, hard as diamonds, and he wanted to bite them, wanted to mark her everywhere. He thought about pulling out and flipping her over, fucking her from behind so she could see herself in the glass, but he didn't trust his legs to hold him. He had to finish like this, deep inside, buried so far every time she walked she'd feel it for a week.

He heard himself again: "Do you feel that? Every time I fuck you, I can feel your pussy clutching me like it's hungry—like you want me to fill you up," He was almost shouting, didn't care if the whole party heard. He drove into her harder, the tip of his cock punching her cervix, and Y/N gasped, head thudding back against the mirror.

"You want me to fill you up, come inside this tight pussy, pretty girl ?"

Y/N's nails dug into his arms. Her head shook back and forth, helpless, but she was moaning, clenching, gasping with every ragged thrust. She was falling apart, coming undone, and he wanted to watch it happen. He was, indeed, ruining the sweetest girl he had met a few days ago.

Steve wrenched the top of her dress down with one hand, the neckline giving way with a violent little rip. Her tits tumbled out, flushed and perfect, nipples hard and shining with sweat. He stared, unable to help himself, and then grabbed both, squeezing, watching the way they bounced every time he railed into her. He wanted her to see what she did to him, wanted to brand the image into her skull the way he knew he'd never erase it from his own. He fucked her harder, faster, felt his own orgasm boiling up from somewhere below his spine, but he fought it back, desperate to see her finish first.

He pinched the tight pink bud, twisted and rolled it between his thumb and forefinger, and she almost shrieked. Her hips jerked, heels slipping, breath bursting wet and hot against his neck. He bit and sucked and tongued her until her voice went high and stretched, until she was frantic and wild with it, so desperate for more she almost sobbed. Her hands fumbled at his hair, pulling him closer. He let go, ran his tongue slow and flat down the valley between her breasts, lapping at the sweat, and she arched up, rubbing against him, so desperate for friction she nearly threw him off balance.

"God," she panted, voice gone sharp and raw. "Please..Steve," She clawed at his shoulder. "Harder." Her breath hitched, lips plush and wet, eyes glazed with everything she was afraid to say. "Fuck me harder.. please, please, please, I need—" 

He grabbed her by the hips, fingers digging deep enough she'd see the marks tomorrow, and rammed forward, burying himself as far as he could go. She screamed, the sound muffled against his neck where she clamped her mouth to keep from shattering. He knew she was close, so close, and he wanted to keep her right there, teetering. He lifted his head just enough to see her face: Y/N was gone, all sense evaporated, eyes huge and glassy and wet, mouth open and working for air. 

She moaned, low and helpless up from her chest, then higher, until she made a sound so high-pitched and mortified he thought for a second she'd started crying. But she wasn't crying. She was coming, hard, every muscle in her thighs clenching so tight he could barely move. He watched her try to hold it in, watched her eyes dart to the mirror and see herself split open, hair wild, her own breasts marked up and jiggling, his cock jack-hammering in and out of her. She saw it and came again, her whole body seizing, mouth in a perfect O of disbelief. Steve had never seen anything so hot in his life.

That was it for him. He went feral, lost to the world, slamming into her with a speed that bordered on mean. Sweat ran down his forehead and stung his eyes but he didn't stop. He wanted to carve her into memory. Her pussy milked him, clutching tight as a fist, and the friction lit him up from the inside. He was past dignity, past restraint, past the point of pretending he was in control. His hips went wild; he felt it start in the soles of his feet, the heat climbing up his legs, then pooling in the base of his spine, then roaring forward, unstoppable. He lost his words; all he could do was grunt her name, low and guttural, as his cock twitched inside her, the first thick spurt hitting so deep her whole body flinched. 

He kept going, aftershocks making his muscles seize and spasm, until she was shaking, spent, her head collapsed on his shoulder, arms limp at her sides. He pressed his face into the crook of her neck and just breathed, sweat slick on both of them, her hair matted and sticky against his mouth. 

They stayed tangled like that, sweat and spit and salt drying between them, until the bright noise of the party outside filtered back into Steve's ears. The air in the bathroom was thick—humid, almost soupy, every surface fogged and slippery. Steve's hands were numb from gripping Y/N's hips so hard. She still shivered in aftershocks, arms looped around his neck, ragged breath cooling the bite marks on his shoulder. She was a mess. He was a mess. He loved it.

He let her down slow, careful, both of them testing their legs like foals on new ice. Steve tucked his cock away, awkward, the zipper fighting every inch, but Y/N didn't seem to notice. She only giggled, this high, brittle sound that made something low in his chest turn over. She tried to pull the top of her dress up, but it was hopeless. Steve watched her fumble with the neckline, then reached out and helped, trying to smooth the fabric back into shape. It was stretched, the seam a little torn, her bra hopelessly lost somewhere in the tangled mess of the skirt, but she let him fuss over her anyway, standing barefoot on the green shag with the ruined dress half off her shoulders. Her face glowed, feverish under the bathroom lights.

He studied her, searching for something clever to say, but the only words in his head sounded like they'd been ripped from a fortune cookie. He wanted to tell her she was incredible, or that he'd never wanted someone the way he wanted her, or that he might actually die if she ever left this bathroom without promising to see him again. But he was Steve Harrington, and the best he could do was stand there, tongue in cheek, grinning like a fucking idiot while she wiped her face on the back of her hand, trying to mop up the sticky gloss of his orgasm from the corners of her mouth.

He said, "Sorry if that was—" and then stopped, because it was the worst possible thing to say when you'd just fucked someone this hard.

But Y/N only laughed, wiping her chin, her whole body humming with aftershocks. Her dress was wrinkled all to hell, and there was a dark, thumbprint-sized stain spreading across where he'd palmed her hip, and her hair was coming down in wet, tangled ropes. She looked up at him with glassy, half-lidded eyes and said, "Don't apologize. That was, uh.. amazing." 

Steve grinned. He couldn't help it. The sight of her, so messy, so alive, so fucking pleased, made him want to laugh out loud, or maybe punch the air, or maybe just wrap her up and never let her go.

He watched her fix her hair in the mirror, mesmerized. She caught his gaze in the reflection and went shy, covering her face with both hands and then peeking out through her fingers. "That was so embarrassing," she whispered.

He shook his head, still a little winded. "No," he said, and meant it. "No, it was the hottest thing I've ever seen in my life. I think you out-charmed me."

She peeked at him, fingers still spread. "Are you lying?"

"Fuck no," he said, a little breathless. 

He realized he was telling the truth and it stunned him. Because, holy hell, he'd never felt like this over someone before.

She nodded with exaggerated solemnity. “Oh, yeah. You missed the memo while you were too busy being king of the lunchroom. Meanwhile, Clarinet Matt over there has probably seen more ass than half the basketball team.”

“Matt?”

“Mm-hmm.”

He frowned. “Matt with the unibrow?”

“Hey, he learned to groom it. It’s two brows now.”

Steve snorted. “Jesus Christ.”

Robin grinned and finally looked up at him. Her lip balm snapped shut. “You’re nervous.”

“I’m not nervous.”

“You’re stalling. Big difference.” She leaned back in the seat, watching him with her too-knowing gaze. “You haven’t been to one of these since… what, prom?”

He made a face. “Since before that.”

“Exactly.” She nudged his arm with her elbow. “And you’ve been all weird and twitchy lately—”

“Gee, wonder why,” he muttered.

“-and you haven’t flirted with anyone since like, June. Which is frankly disturbing and unnatural. So you’re coming inside, we’re grabbing a drink, and you’re gonna talk to someone who isn’t, like, twelve, or doesn’t work at Family Video.”

He hesitated. The truth was, he had flirted… kind of. He’d tried. But everything felt weird now. Off. Like there was a gap between who he used to be and who he was now, and he hadn’t quite figured out how to bridge it. He wasn’t “Steve the Hair” anymore. He wasn’t cool, or confident, or even all that charming. 

Robin softened slightly. She could see it and he knew she could. “Hey,” she said gently. “It’s just a party. Not a warzone.”

“I know.” He rubbed his hand over his face, dragging it down slowly. “I just… I don’t know how to do this anymore.”

“Then don’t ‘do’ anything,” she said. “Just exist. Be a guy at a party. Drink something questionable. Make fun of someone’s outfit. Maybe dance a little. Or don’t. But come inside.”

He didn’t answer right away. The stereo shifted to a new song, something synthy and echoing. The kind of track that sounded like a late summer night and sweat on the back of your neck. Through the windshield, the porch light flickered again, casting long shadows over the walkway.

Steve exhaled slowly.

“Fine,” he said at last, unbuckling his seatbelt. “But if I see Clarinet Matt grinding on anyone, I’m out.”

Robin beamed. “Deal.”

They got out of the car together. The air was thick with humidity, the sky bruised with heat lightning somewhere in the distance. As they headed up the sidewalk, someone popped out of the garage yelling something unintelligible, and a cheer went up from the backyard. A beer can rolled down the driveway and came to a stop at Steve’s foot.

He toed it aside.

“God, I forgot how gross parties are,” he said.

Robin bumped his shoulder. “Welcome back to the jungle, Harrington.”

They stepped up to the door and pushed it open—straight into the heat, the noise, and whatever the hell came next.

The cooler was already sweating through the table.

You wiped your hand on your skirt and reached for the bottle of gin you’d stashed earlier: cheap, sharp, and fast-working. The kind of thing that burned going down but paired well with questionable decisions. You hadn’t even meant to pour yourself a drink yet, but the second you heard someone trying to hook a boombox up through the window and shouting about how “the reverb sounded better in the garage,” you knew it was going to be that kind of night.

The back porch looked like a discount carnival. Twinkle lights strung in uneven lines along the fence, plastic cups already scattered in the grass, and Vickie darting around with the chaotic energy of someone hosting her first real party without parental supervision. Which, to be fair, she was.

“Your station looks amazing,” she chirped, popping up beside you with an armful of mismatched bar towels. “Like, way cooler than I pictured. You’re a total lifesaver.”

You huffed softly, pouring a small shot into your cup. “Yeah, well. I figured I owed you after you covered for me when I threw up in the trumpet section my senior year.”

“You had mono.”

“I had three wine coolers and a bad attitude.”

Vickie giggled and flitted off to untangle an extension cord. You leaned back against the folding table and took a sip, eyes drifting over the backyard.

The crowd was already forming, mostly Hawkins strays. Band kids, theater kids, art kids. The kind of people who filled out the school yearbook in all the margins the popular crowd didn’t bother to read. You recognized a few from The Hideout, where you slung drinks to the late-night crowd and kept tips stuffed in your bra. Some of them were still technically in high school. Some had just graduated. And then there were a few, like you, who hung somewhere in between, old enough to know better, but still showing up anyway.

You hadn’t planned on doing this tonight. Didn’t really feel like being the entertainment. But Vickie had asked, and you still had a soft spot for weird little band kids with big hearts and bad judgment. Plus, she’d begged, promised she’d owe you forever, and who were you to say no to that?

Because she asked. Because you were soft where it counted, even if most people didn’t see it.

So you came in hot. You always did nowadays.

Your makeup was full war paint—black liner winged out to your temples, shimmer on your lids, lashes thick and dramatic. Red lips, perfectly outlined, just glossy enough to look dangerous. Your hair fell in tousled waves, the ends curled like you barely tried (but definitely had). You looked like the kind of girl your high school self would've stared at. Maybe even been a little scared of.

Which was the point.

You took the shot and chased it with a deep breath, letting the burn settle in your chest as you surveyed the yard. A few kids in fishnets and glitter were giggling over a playlist. Someone had already spilled something down the porch steps. A girl in fairy wings tried to climb the fence and nearly took out the string lights in the process.

Same chaos, different day.

It had been a couple years since you left this behind, the Hawkins theater scene, the cast parties, the makeouts in laundry rooms and crying in someone’s car over failed auditions. You were older now. Wiser. Definitely hotter. Working nights at The Hideout had burned the last of your high school softness out of you and replaced it with sharp edges and knowing smirks. You could handle drunk strangers and lecherous regulars without flinching.

This? This was nothing.

Still, you couldn’t help the way your chest ached a little watching them all swirl and laugh, tipsy on youth and whatever cheap booze they’d managed to sneak past Vickie’s pantry.

You pushed your hair back from your face, licked your lips, and leaned forward on your elbows, letting the music roll over you. You weren’t here to mingle. You weren’t here to flirt or dance or fall into anything.

But if something interesting found you?

You weren’t above letting the night get a little fun.

The music was loud, but not in a bad way necessarily.

Just in a way that made your chest hum a little. The way that meant the party has officially kicked off. Steve stood on the edge of the living room, beer in hand, watching the crowd morph and stretch into something a little messier than it had been ten minutes ago. Lights from the backyard flickered through the open screen door, casting shadows across the floor. Someone was trying to teach some underclassmen how to line dance. It wasn’t going well.

Robin had already disappeared into a group by the kitchen, deep in conversation with a girl who looked like she had strong opinions on musicals or something. Steve caught bits and pieces but tuned out before he got roped in. It wasn;t that he didn't like Robin’s other friends, this just wasn't really his scene.

Most of the people here weren't really his scene. He wasn't even sure if he had a scene anymore.

He’d gotten a few nods since walking in, most following recognition flashes and confused smiles. A couple people had even said ‘hi’ with the same tilted head energy they might use seeing a teacher at the grocery store.

No one had said it outright, but he could hear it:

What is he doing here?

Honestly, he still wasn't sure himself.

The beer was getting warm. He didn't know what the brand was but it tasted fine enough. He sipped it and wandered toward the back of the house, past the open door and into the yard where the energy was freer, a little weirder in a way that didn't feel so stifling, even if still a bit unfamiliar.

And then he saw her.

It wasn't anything dramatic. No spotlight or music swelling. No slow motion entrance from a John Hughes flick.

But his eyes caught on her and just…stuck.

She was leaning against a folding table near the back fence, surrounded by liquor bottles and lime, pouring something into a red cup like she'd done it a thousand times. She wasn;t his usual type, bold makeup, a couple tattoos. She looked older and unapologetic. Not in a she’s too old to be here way, just maybe in that in-between stage like he was.

Except she seems sure of herself. She wasn't trying to impress anyone. It looked like she didn't even have to.

Steve blinked as she said something to a kid in suspenders, her laugh soft while she poured another drink. Her bracelets jingled when she moved. She hadn't noticed him staring yet and he didn't even realize he was staring until she finally did.

Her gaze flicked toward him, brief and curious.

And she smiled.

Just a little. Barely more than a twitch at the corner of her mouth. But it wasn't the same smiles he had been getting all night from everyone else. It wasn't mocking, or surprising. It was just an acknowledgement. Like he was a person and not a misplaced party guest.

Then she turned back to the drink in front of her, handing it off to a girl without missing a beat.

Steve stood there a second longer, hearing Robin’s voice in his head from earlier.

His thumb tapped against his beer can and then, almost without thinking, he started walking toward her.

He didn’t walk straight up to the table.

There was a small cluster of kids already crowding the makeshift bar. The kind of people who probably whispered about him in the halls last year but never talked to him directly. They laughed too loud and asked for drinks with dumb names that didn't exist, and you played them along like you heard it all before. Like this was something you did all the time.

He lingered at the edge, watching. Still sipping his shitty warm beer. He was past pretending it was any good now.

He noticed you laugh easily now that he was up close. You teased the group in front of you as you poured a round of something that was suspiciously neon into cups, wrist flicking in practiced motions. One of the guys said something dumb about jungle juice and you shot back with no hesitation:

“If you end up puking in Vickie’s hydrangeas, I’m telling everyone it was on purpose.”

That got a roar of laughter, and it made Steve smile too, even though he wasn’t part of it.

Eventually the crowd peeled off, drinks in hand heading to whatever trouble they were about to cause. And it was just him, still standing there like a guy who hadn't made up his mind yet.

You looked up from cleaning a spill.

For the first time, your eyes really landed on him. Full attention. Like you were seeing him clearly now that the others had cleared out.

You gaze swept over him, deliberate but unhurried. It was curious, maybe even amused, but with no bite behind it.

Then you smiled again, a little different this time. Like you knew something he didn't.

“Hey…” He said. 

Astounding. Revolutionary opening, Steve, truly.

“Hey,” you said, cocking your head. “You don’t look like a vodka-cran guy.”

Steve blinked, caught off guard by the sound of your voice directed squarely at him. You gestured toward the table with a flourish.

He opened his mouth, and then closed it again, glancing down at the very real, very chaotic spread of alcohol laid out in front of you. There were multiple types of gin, two bottles of tequila, a half-empty handle of rum, and, somehow, a can of whipped cream.

“Jesus,” he said under his breath. “You could run a bar out here.”

You grinned. “I do, technically. Just not for free.”

That earned a quiet huff of laughter from him, and for a moment, he forgot why he’d come over in the first place.

And then you leaned forward slightly, resting your palms on the edge of the table, watching him.

“So? You going to pick your poison?” you asked. “Or, are you gonna make me guess, pretty boy?”

It hit him sideways. Not the words, those were light, teasing, easy. But the way you said it. Like you meant it, but didn’t care if he couldn’t handle it. Like it was natural. Like you’d seen through the awkward edges of his presence here and decided to let him stay anyway.

His brain stalled for half a second. Something behind his ribs fluttered, a little confused by the attention, a little stirred up by the fact that you weren’t looking at him like everyone else had tonight.

He blinked. Tried to think of something cool to say.

And then it came out before he could stop it.

“Can I pick you?”

It was instinct, old muscle memory, the kind of line he used to throw out at parties like candy. Except now, it didn’t feel natural. It felt exposing. Immediately exposing.

As soon as he said it, his face flushed, and he looked down at his beer can like it might offer an escape hatch.

“I mean…shit, I used to be better at this, you know? It…definitely sounded better in my head, less… douchey or whatever–” He gestured weakly toward the cooler, already halfway into backpedaling.

But when he looked back up, you weren’t laughing.

You were still watching him, mouth curled into something softer. Surprised, yeah no shit, but not in a bad way. More like you just hadn’t expected him to say it.

And then, you tilted your head and said, “Don’t worry. You had my attention at ‘hey.’”

You turned away briefly to grab two shot glasses and a bottle of tequila, not explaining, not drawing attention to the way he’d clearly scrambled himself with that line. Just filled the glasses like it was routine and slid one across the table toward him.

He picked it up carefully, eyes flicking from the salt dish to the lime wedges stacked beside it. You already had one in your hand.

“You’re gonna want this after,” you said, handing him a lime with a smirk. “You’ve got the face of someone who pretends he likes tequila, but absolutely doesn’t.”

Steve scoffed. “I can handle it.”

“Mm-hmm.”

You clinked your glass lightly against his. “To questionable choices.”

He grinned, couldn’t help it. You knocked them back in sync. The burn hit hard, and yeah, you were absolutely right. But the lime helped.

So did your smile.

You were acting cool. Because that’s what you did.

You smiled, handed him the lime like it was nothing, took the shot like it didn’t burn more than usual. Like Steve Harrington hadn’t just said Can I pick you? in the most unexpectedly earnest way possible.

Your job made you good at keeping your face still, your voice even, your energy light. Guys said worse things to you at The Hideout on a nightly basis. But none of those guys had once been crowned King Steve in a high school gym you used to pass through to get to rehearsal. None of them had ever looked at you like this. Like you weren’t a bartender, or a girl at a party, or a weird blast from Hawkins High’s distant past.

Just a person. Standing in front of him. With tequila on your tongue and too many thoughts in your head.

You reached for a mixer, busying your hands.

“So,” you said, capping the tequila again. “You want something real or are you gonna keep nursing that warm-ass beer?”

He looked down at the can, made a face. “I mean… I probably shouldn’t go too hard. I’m the designated ride later.”

You nodded, already reaching for the Sprite and one of the better rums. “Got it. Responsible and polite.”

“Don’t spread it around,” he said, smirking. “I’ve got a reputation to ruin.”

You snorted softly and handed him the cup, chilled and fizzy and just sweet enough to go down easy. He took a sip and raised his eyebrows.

“Okay, that’s actually good.”

You feigned a bow. “I’ll be here all night.”

But that wasn’t exactly true, was it?

Because suddenly, there was a line again. Some theater kid you vaguely remembered (Jake? James? Something with a J) was already approaching with two glitter-covered girls, asking for tequila sunrises like they were at a cruise ship bar. You held up a hand, fingers spread in mock authority.

“One sec.”

You turned to the boy (Jackson, maybe) and handed him a half-full bottle of juice.

“You’re promoted. Don’t mess it up. Tell Vickie I’m… on my break.”

He blinked. “Wait, seriously?”

“Seriously,” you said. “Go nuts. But, like, not actually nuts.”

He nodded like you’d just knighted him, and you grabbed your own drink, gesturing for Steve to follow.

“Come on,” you said, glancing over your shoulder. “There’s a spot.”

You didn’t wait to see if he followed, but you knew he would. He was curious. You could feel it.

The hallway was quieter than the rest of the house, and you slipped past a few coats hanging on hooks, turning up the stairs and heading for Vickie’s room without thinking. You’d been here enough times to know the layout. The party noise was muffled now, just bass and laughter bleeding through the walls. You stopped by the window and glanced back.

Steve was still with you. Still holding that solo cup, still smiling like he wasn’t entirely sure how this happened, but also not questioning it.

You popped the screen and nudged open the window.

“Okay,” you said. “This next part requires a little balance.”

He arched a brow. “Please don’t make me climb anything.”

You smirked. “Too late.”

And then you stepped out, one leg through the window and then the other, onto the low section of roof that overlooked the backyard. The air felt cooler up there, like the night hadn’t realized it was late summer. You sat, crossed your legs, and looked back just as Steve climbed through, much less graceful, more cautious, but he made it. His cup sloshed a little, but didn’t spill.

You smiled and patted the shingles beside you.

“Congrats. You survived my highly exclusive VIP lounge.”

He settled beside you, legs stretched out in front of him. The lights below flickered gold across the lawn. From here, the party looked like it belonged to someone else entirely.

You sipped your drink and tried not to think about how close his shoulder was.

You were calm. You were collected.

You were… absolutely freaking out.

You weren’t really sure where this rush of confidence had happened, or how this moment came to be. This meaning sitting next to Steve Harrington on a roof at a house party like it was normal, like it happened all the damn time.

You'd graduated the year before him. One year older, but it had felt like more back then. He’d been all loud confidence and good genetics, orbiting the halls of Hawkins High like he owned teh place while you were painting sets and working late shifts at the mini-mart. Theater kid. Full riddle to the chorus of other people's drama. You barely had time for your own.

Back then you watched him from a distance. Not like that, (okay, sometimes like that) but mostly just curious. Because halfway through your senior year, something shifted. He wasn't as bad. Not as smug. Didn't hang out with those douchebag friends of his anymore. The shine didn't fade exactly, but it cracked a little. And you definitely noticed.

You heard he got his ass handed to him in an alley by Jonathan Byers and that sometime after, he started driving around freshmen like it was a job. You’d caught a glimpse once, through the drugstore window, of him standing next to Robin Buckley in a Family Video vest. That had made you smile.

Something about that made sense.

She wasn’t the kind of person people like Steve used to be friends with. But maybe he wasn’t that person anymore. Maybe you weren’t, either.

You snuck a glance at him now, sitting beside you, the rim of his red cup pressed to his mouth, watching the backyard like he wasn’t sure if he missed it or was glad to be removed from it.

You got the feeling maybe he’d changed more than people realized.

The sounds of the party drifted up from the backyard in a low, distant blur. A beat-heavy song was playing and someone below was trying to harmonize over it very, very badly. You smirked into your cup.

Steve was watching it all quietly, elbow propped on his knee. You could tell he didn’t quite know where he fit into this version of Hawkins. Like the script had changed and he’d missed the rehearsal.

“Didn’t realize all the band and theater kids partied like this,” he said finally. “Kinda thought we had the monopoly on dumb house parties.”

You tilted your head. “Yeah, well. Clarinet Matt’s been drunk since like 7:30, so. Clearly we know how to throw down.”

Steve glanced over the edge of the roof, eyebrows raised. “That’s Clarinet Matt?”

You pointed with your drink to a guy, flanked on both sides by two giggling girls. “The one in the crop top by the fence? Yeah.”

He huffed a laugh. “Robin was right.”

“You two always talk about clarinet players?”

“Weirdly often,” he said, and you caught the smile before he looked away again. “She said something about how you guys were all secretly screwing each other.”

You snorted, raising your eyebrows. “Secretly?”

He laughed under his breath. But something in the way he said you guys rubbed just the wrong way. You weren’t offended, not really. But it slipped out anyway.

“Maybe you just had your head too far up your own ass in high school to notice.”

As soon as the words were out, you winced.

Shit.

You hadn’t meant it harsh, but still, you could feel the air shift slightly. You looked over, ready to backpedal.

“Sorry,” you muttered. “That came out-”

“No,” he cut in, shaking his head. “You’re right.”

It was quiet for a second.

He didn’t look angry. Just… thoughtful. The kind of quiet that comes when someone’s tallying up old versions of themselves and not really liking the math.

He took a sip from his cup, like it could buy him a beat, then turned his head to look at you fully.

“You knew who I was,” he said softly. “Back then.”

It wasn’t a question. Just an observation.

You nodded slowly. “Yeah.”

He blinked, almost sheepish. “I didn’t- I didn’t realize you did. I mean, I don’t remember you—”

You waved a hand. “It’s fine. I wasn’t exactly on your radar. Theater kid, remember? Black box and dress rehearsals and building sets after class. I was always around, but, like… not in the cafeteria table kind of way.”

He was quiet again. You could tell it bugged him. He looked down at his cup, then back at you. His brows knit together, like something was slowly clicking into place.

“Wait,” he said, sitting up a little straighter. “Were you in that play my junior year? The Crucible? You were… uh shit, you were Abigail? Right?”

You blinked. “You saw The Crucible?”

“Yeah. Nancy dragged me to it. She was doing a write-up for the school paper, and I thought it was gonna be torture, but…” He trailed off, watching you more closely now. “You were good. Like… really good. Scared the hell out of me, actually.”

You laughed, surprised. “That was kind of the goal.”

“I remember thinking, like, damn, she’s not messing around.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I didn’t know that was you.”

You shrugged, eyes on your drink. “I didn’t look the same back then.”

“No,” he said quietly. “But I should’ve remembered you.”

And the way he said it made your stomach twist, just a little.

You looked different now.

Not that you were ever unattractive, not even close. But in high school, you’d kind of blended in—always rushing between rehearsal and whatever after-school job you had lined up next. You were the kind of girl who never lingered. Who never looked like she had time for anything that didn’t matter.

And now?

Now you looked like someone who’d taken all that time back.

It threw him a little, honestly.

He glanced sideways at you, your knees pulled up, cup resting loosely in your hands, the lights from the backyard glinting against your bracelets and the gloss on your mouth.

Without really thinking, he nudged your knee lightly with his own.

“So… what’s with the whole makeover?”

You looked over at him, brow raised, and his mouth moved faster than his brain could catch up.

“Not in a bad way. I just mean, you obviously look different. Not that you didn’t- ” He rubbed the back of his neck. “You look great. Just different. From school.”

You snorted softly into your cup, and the tension in his chest unknotted slightly.

“My parents suck,” you said, voice even. “Strict. Had money but no imagination. Theater was a ‘waste of potential.’”

He stayed quiet, listening as you kept going.

“I worked a lot. After school, weekends, holidays. Probably why you never saw me at parties or whatever. Theater and band kids were the only people I ever really hung out with.”

You sipped your drink again. A little slower this time.

“Eventually saved enough to get out. I’ve got a trailer now. Forest Hills.”

You didn’t look at him when you said it.

He could hear the shift in your voice, the way you braced for judgment, even if you tried to keep it hidden under a casual tone.

But that wasn’t him. Not anymore.

He nodded, like it was simple. Because to him, it kind of was.

“That’s yours, though,” he said. “That’s more than most people our age can say.”

You looked at him, surprised for half a second. But then your smile crept in, quiet and almost a little shy.

“My parents aren’t strict,” he said after a moment. “They’re just... never really around. Always off somewhere, leaving me the house and a list of rules they don’t check up on.”

You tilted your head. “That sounds… lonely.”

He shrugged, looking back out over the party. “I guess. I’m kind of figuring it out. Didn’t get into college. Working at Family Video. Still showing up at high school parties, apparently.”

You raised your cup. “Well. I’m here too.”

He looked over at you.

And this time, when you smiled, he smiled back.

You knocked your cups together with a quiet clink.

The music below shifted. Someone whooped. But up here, the two of you were still.

“So…” you started, sipping from your cup, still watching the scene below. “You hang out with Robin a lot, huh?”

He followed your gaze. Robin was down in the backyard talking animatedly to Vickie, her hands moving too fast for her mouth to keep up, surrounded by a loose ring of band kids. She looked like she was in her element.

Steve nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I do. She’s, uh, she’s a great girl.”

He said it a little too quickly. Then winced internally at how it sounded. “I mean, not like that. She’s not…” He scratched the back of his neck. “We’re just friends. Like, capital-P Platonic. Promise.”

You turned to look at him, and he caught the amused little twitch at the corner of your mouth.

“Yeah,” you said, with a soft kind of ease. “I don’t really think you’re her type.”

He blinked. Looked at you again and realized you knew. Or at least had a very good idea.

Something settled in his chest then, gentle and unspoken. Like a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

You glanced back down at Robin. “You’re a good friend to her.”

That one landed a little deeper. Like you knew guys like him weren’t always the type to get it. But he did. And it meant something.

“Thanks,” he said, voice a little lower.

It got quiet again, but it wasn’t awkward, and after a second, he turned to you, leaning slightly on one elbow.

“So… just for the record, since we’re talking about this stuff… I’m not seeing anyone.”

You didn’t look surprised. Just lifted a brow. “Okay.”

He smirked. “Yeah. I just figured… in case you were wondering.”

You nodded, taking another sip. “Cool.”

“Cool.”

Another pause.

He cleared his throat. “I, um… ”

You glanced at him again.

“You know I’m flirting with you, right?”

You looked at him for a second, then gave a small shrug and said, “Yeah. I know you are.”

He blinked, thrown for just a beat, until you added, “Thought you’d be better at it.”

That made him laugh. An actual, warm, caught-off-guard kind of laugh.

“Yeah,” he said. “I’m out of practice. My now growing list of embarrassing work uniforms has put a strain on my success rate.”

He looked back out over the party, the way the lights blinked down below, the sound of someone starting a chant that would probably lead to something dumb. And for a second, it felt almost normal. Like this could just be any summer night.

But it wasn’t. Not really.

He hadn’t talked much about what happened. Not even to Robin. He couldn’t exactly say, hey, I got the shit kicked out of me in a Soviet elevator under a shopping mall, and then watched it burn down with monsters inside it. There wasn’t a way to casually drop that into conversation. So instead, he just... hadn’t. He worked. He cracked jokes. He kept showing up.

You glanced at him then, and he could feel your eyes even before you spoke.

“So,” you said quietly. “Why were you?”

He looked over, confused. “Why was I what?”

“Flirting with me.”

It wasn’t defensive or suspicious, and he felt the weight of it. It was something he needed to answer honestly.

He scratched at his jeans, glanced down at his hand resting beside yours on the roof, close but not touching.

“Because you’re... I mean, you’re pretty,” he said, like it was obvious. “But not just that. I think it’s... I was looking at you earlier. Not in a creepy way, but like, because you don’t seem like you care what anyone here thinks of you. You’re not trying to be anyone. You just are.”

He exhaled a little. Let the rest come out in a slower rhythm.

“Like... you know who you are, and you’re not embarrassed about it. I guess I’ve just been trying to figure that out for myself lately.”

He looked at you then. Really looked.

“And you seem like someone who already has.”

Your fingers brushed his. It was soft. Barely anything. Just the backs of your hands, sitting close on the shingles, moving just enough to feel the shift.

Your fingers lingered near his on the roof, brushing again, slower this time. The kind of touch that wasn’t quite on purpose, but wasn’t exactly an accident either.

You didn’t look at him when you spoke.

“I don’t think I ever thought someone like you would call me pretty.”

He turned his head, brows raised just enough to show he didn’t quite follow.

You glanced at him, making air quotes with your fingers. “You know… I’m not, like, the ‘Steve Harrington’ type.” 

He laughed quietly. “Yeah, I guess that tracks.”

You half-smiled into your cup, but he kept looking at you like he wanted to say something else. And then he did.

“I mean, I thought I had a crush on Robin for a while,” he said. “Right after we started working together. But then I realized she was, well... not into guys.”

That made you laugh, a soft exhale through your nose.

He gave a half shrug. “I guess I don’t really know what my type is anymore. I used to think I did. Cheerleaders, popular girls, pretty in that obvious way... but now I think maybe all that stuff, the boxes we’re supposed to fit into it doesn’t matter as much as I thought it did.”

You looked at him again, and this time he didn’t look away.

“It’s more about how someone makes you feel. And I don’t know, you just... you feel like your own person. I like that.”

You could feel the warmth in your chest before you said anything, and it annoyed you in that way that made you smile a little too wide.

“So now you’re sweet and insightful?” you said, shaking your head. “Great. Like it wasn’t already unfair that you’ve always been pretty.”

He looked smug about that. You gave him a light elbow to the ribs.

“I’m serious. It’s kind of rude, actually.”

“I also… think I like girls who give me a hard time?”

He grinned at you when he said it, and it was softer than before. Less about trying to be charming, more about just enjoying the moment. You didn’t say anything for a few seconds. Just watched the backyard, listened to the party stretch out below you like it had nothing to do with what was happening up here.

Then you leaned forward a little, finishing what was left in your cup, and said, “We should probably go inside.”

You didn’t mean the party.

You didn’t need to say it.

He hesitated, confused for a second, and you almost clarified. But then you saw the shift in his expression, the understanding settling in behind his eyes.

“Yeah,” he said quietly, nodding. “Yeah, okay.”

You slid back through the window first, feet hitting the carpet softly. He followed right after, careful with the screen, shutting it gently behind him.

And just like that, you were back in the bedroom. Still alone. Still close.

The rooftop air hadn’t left your skin yet.

The bedroom was dim, lit only by the moon through the sheer curtains and the faint shimmer of backyard string lights bleeding in from the window. There was no lamp on, no overhead light buzzing to distract from the soft hush that had fallen over the room. Everything outside felt far away. Muffled music. Laughter that didn’t belong to either of you anymore.

Steve turned from the window slowly, like he wasn’t sure if he should speak first. His silhouette was easy to make out against the glow. He stood with one hand resting on the sill, the other loosely curled at his side. There was something a little unsure in the way he moved, like he wasn’t used to being in someone else’s space without a script to follow.

When he looked at you, the light hit just enough to catch in his eyes, almost adding a golden hue. He didn’t say anything right away. Just watched you, like he was trying to figure out what came next without ruining it.

He wasn’t towering or anything, but he was taller enough that it was noticeable in the stillness. He filled the frame of the window behind him, the night brushing along the edges of his hair, the collar of his shirt slightly crooked like he’d tugged at it nervously earlier in the evening. You could tell he was waiting for you to make the next move, but you didn’t know exactly what you wanted to do.

And somehow, that made it easier.

He gave you a smile, soft around the edges, and let out a quiet laugh. It wasn’t smug or teasing. It was nervous in a way that felt real.

You stepped forward before you could think about it too much and your fingers grazed the back of his hand, brushed lightly across the knuckles, then curled around his palm.

You didn’t rush it.

You just stood there, fingertips exploring the shape of his hand, the slight calluses on his fingers, the warmth of his skin. Slowly, deliberately, you laced your fingers through his, one by one.

He didn’t pull away. If anything, he shifted closer.

His other hand hovered, just a few inches above your waist, like he was waiting for some kind of unspoken permission. You could feel his breath against your cheek, and when he finally asked, his voice was barely more than a whisper.

“Is this okay?”

You nodded. The moment didn’t need anything louder than that.

He settled his hand gently at your waist, and you felt his thumb rest there, just barely moving.

Outside, someone had changed the music again. You could hear it clearly now through the half-cracked window behind him. Slower, moodier. Some dramatic love song that felt too on the nose, but somehow perfect in its own ridiculous way and you both laughed.

It broke the tension just enough to make the air feel easier to breathe.

“What,” you said, your voice soft and teasing, “are you going to dance with me now?”

“I might,” he said, watching you carefully.

You stepped back just a little. Not far, just enough to make room. Then, with a smile tugging at your lips, you gave yourself a little twirl. It wasn’t graceful or showy. Just a small, silly spin that made your skirt shift and your bracelets jingle, and made him smile the way you hoped he would.

When you turned back around, he was still watching you.

Only now he was closer.

He wasn’t touching you how he wanted, not yet, but the space between you had narrowed without either of you saying a word about it. You could feel the warmth coming off him, the way his hand was still in yours, thumb brushing gently over your skin like it had started doing it on its own.

He didn’t say anything.

Neither did you.

You weren’t sure if it was nerves or something else, but your pulse had picked up, steady but noticeable, and when you looked up at him, he was already looking back at you.

His eyes flicked to your mouth for a second. Just one. Then back to your eyes.

You weren’t usually shy about this sort of thing. Not anymore. But something about this felt different, like it wasn’t about boldness or performance. Just a choice. One you didn’t want to overthink.

“You’re not the Steve Harrington I expected,” you said, voice low.

Steve smiled, but it wasn’t playful this time. “Yeah? You’re kind of surprising too.”

You stayed like that for a second longer. Close enough to hear each other breathe. Close enough that you didn’t have to think.

Then you rose up on your toes and kissed him.

A quiet press of your lips to his. The kind of kiss that asks rather than takes, lingering for a beat longer than it should, but never once feels wrong.

Your lips were soft. A little unsure at first, but not hesitant. Just… careful. Like you wanted to make sure this was real. That you could actually kiss him and it would mean something.

Steve leaned into it, finding his rhythm again, the kind he used to be good at before everything got complicated. This he still remembered. The way a kiss could feel electric if it was with someone who actually saw you.

Your hand was still in his, your fingers curled tight like you didn’t want to let go just yet. He moved the other one to your waist, tentative, checking your face for any shift. You didn’t pull back. You leaned in. That was all the answer he needed.

The warmth of your body, the faint smell of whatever perfume you were wearing—a little sharp, a little sweet—anchored him. He deepened the kiss slightly. One of those rare moments where nothing else mattered, not even the faint music coming through the floorboards or the chaos of the house below.

When you broke apart for a breath, you didn’t pull far. He stayed close, his forehead brushing yours, and gave a small, quiet laugh.

“Okay,” he murmured, his voice low and still a little breathless. “You’re a good kisser.”

You smiled, eyes just a little dreamy. “Thought you’d be smoother, honestly.”

Steve let out another soft laugh, leaning his cheek toward yours. “I’ve had a lot of other shit going on.”

You leaned in again, kissed him slower this time, and he let himself sink into it. He was starting to feel confident again, like this was the one part of his life he hadn’t totally screwed up. He let one hand trail from your waist to your back, brushing against the edge of your shirt. You leaned into it. He smiled again. Yeah, he was definitely still good at this.

Then came the voice from the hallway.

“I knew it. I knew you went on the roof. But then Jackson said you were with Steve Harrington and I was like, no way in hell—”

Vickie’s voice stopped abruptly as her bedroom door swung open. She blinked once, twice, mouth hanging open slightly as she took in the scene. You and Steve, standing by the window, clearly just having pulled apart, your hands still tangled together like you forgot they were intertwined.

You both froze, like teens caught making out by a parent. Which, to be fair, wasn’t that far off.

Steve blinked, a little dazed. “Hey, Vickie,” he said. His voice cracked halfway through the greeting. Not his smoothest moment.

She stood in the doorway with a solo cup in her hand, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Well. Jackson’s doing a pretty decent job at the bar, just so you know. But maybe let’s keep my bedroom off-limits?”

Her tone wasn’t harsh, just knowing. She didn’t seem mad. More amused than anything.

You both scrambled to talk over each other.

“We weren’t gonna—”

“Not like that—”

But Vickie was already turning around, waving it off like it wasn’t even worth clarifying. “Steve, by the way? Lipstick.” She pointed to the corner of her own mouth before heading out and closing the door behind her.

He turned to you, still a little stunned. “Do I actually have—”

You nodded, already stepping in to help. “Yeah. Hang on.”

You licked your finger and wiped at the corner of his mouth. It should have been mortifying. Weird. But it wasn’t. It was kind of funny. Kind of soft.

“Sorry,” you said, pulling your hand back.

Steve shook his head. “Don’t be.”

You looked at him like you were trying not to smile. Like you already knew how ridiculous this whole thing was and liked it anyway.

“We should probably go,” he said, a little breathless still. “To the car.”

“Aren’t you Robin’s ride?”

He laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. No. I mean, yeah, I am. But I didn’t mean, like, leave the party. Or go anywhere. I just—” He trailed off. “You know what I meant.”

You looked at him for a second, then gave a slow nod. “Right.”

And just like that, the cool was back on. You took his hand again, your fingers warm and easy against his, and tugged him gently toward the door.

He followed, smiling at the way you moved like you’d done this before. You didn’t look back, just led him through the house like you belonged in every room.

When you reached the front door and headed outside, he opened his mouth to ask if you knew which car was his, but the look you gave him said it all.

Yeah. Of course you knew. Everyone did.

You weren’t exactly sure how it happened. One minute you were tugging Steve through the house with your fingers laced in his, the two of you sharing a quiet grin like you were in on some secret no one else could see. The next, the party was behind you and you were in the backseat of his car.

At first, you sat shoulder to shoulder for a minute, the vinyl bench seat sticking faintly to your thighs, the condensation on the windows muting the outside world. The silence stretched just a little too long.

But then he looked at you, all soft-eyed and slightly out of breath, like he hadn’t quite caught up to himself. His hand slid behind your ear, a familiar move, but the way he did it was gentle. Careful. As if asking, again, without words—Are you sure?

You kissed him again. You didn’t think, you just moved. And this time, the hesitation melted.

Now he was above you, leaning over the seat, one hand braced on the window and the other trailing up your side. His body half-shielded yours from the outside world, not that anyone who passed by would be sober enough to care. It was just the two of you.

You could feel the weight of him, the tension in his shoulders as he held himself up, hovering just enough that you didn’t feel crowded, just… wanted. Like this wasn’t a mistake or some weird accident born of a party and moonlight and bad timing.

His fingers slipped beneath the hem of your shirt, dragging over your skin slowly. When he brushed over the soft swell of your stomach, you flinched just a little. Not from him, but from that voice in your head, the one that always showed up right when you were about to feel good.

But he stopped. Pulled back slightly, eyes searching yours.

“Is this okay?” he asked, voice low. Throaty. Honest.

You nodded, your own voice catching. “Yeah. It’s okay.”

He smiled softly, like he didn’t quite believe it was happening either, then leaned in again, his palm skimming higher, over the curve of your breast. He paused when he felt the lack of fabric there, like it caught him off guard.

A breath, quiet but audible. “Jesus.”

It wasn’t crass or performative. It sounded a little like awe.

You felt your body warm under the compliment he didn’t even mean to say, your fingers tightening in the back of his shirt as he kissed down your neck. He shifted closer, and you arched to meet him. But, just as you were finally letting yourself fall into it, the outside world slammed back in.

A blaring car horn cut through the quiet, making you bolt upright so fast that your shoulder knocked against his jaw.

“Ow- what- ?”

Steve pulled back, blinking in surprise as you squinted through the foggy rear window, trying to make sense of the headlights pulling up behind the car. The engine idled. Then you saw it.

That busted-up, faded-paint, always-too-loud van.

Your ride.

“Shit,” you muttered, dragging your shirt down and pressing your palms to your cheeks. “Shit, shit, shit.”

Steve was still confused. “Wait. What’s going on?”

You gestured toward the window with a sigh. “That’s my ride.”

He squinted. “Eddie Munson is your ride?”

You gave him a look. “Don’t make a face.”

“I’m not,” he said quickly, holding up his hands. “I just… wasn’t expecting that.”

You dug around in your skirt pocket, pulling out the stub of an eyeliner pencil and taking his wrist. He let you, watching silently as you uncapped it and started writing your number down the inside of his forearm. You added a little heart at the end before looking up.

Steve was still staring at you like he hadn’t quite recalibrated. You leaned forward and kissed the inside of his wrist, leaving a red lip mark just above the first number. When you pulled back, his mouth was slightly open, like he had something to say but forgot the words.

“You know where to find me,” you said softly.

And then you smiled because it was ridiculous and romantic and chaotic and exactly what you’d wanted to feel tonight. You adjusted your shirt one last time and reached for the door handle.

He still hadn’t moved when you stepped out into the humid summer air, the music from the party floating back to your ears like you’d stepped through a curtain.

You walked toward the van without looking back.

Eddie was leaning over from the driver’s seat, arm draped over the wheel, expression caught somewhere between concern and amusement. His window was already rolled down.

He raised his eyebrows at you. “Did you just climb out of Steve Harrington’s car?”

You stopped at the passenger door, raised a single finger like you were about to say something smart.

“Drive.”

He blinked, then let out a short laugh, the kind that burst out involuntarily.

“Shit,” he muttered, still grinning as he reached over to unlock the door. “You got it.”

You slid into the seat and slammed the door behind you. He didn’t ask anything else. Just threw the van into gear and peeled off down the street like nothing had happened—like you weren’t leaving Steve Harrington in the backseat of his own car with your number on his arm and the ghost of your kiss still fresh on his mouth.

Steve stayed in the car long after the door clicked shut behind you. The glow from the porch lights and the spillover haze of streetlamps made everything outside feel a little too sharp, too focused. Inside the car, it was muted. Blurred at the edges. The smell of your perfume still lingered faintly in the air, clinging to his shirt collar, warm and soft and a little sweet. He could still feel the last press of your lips against his wrist where the ink of your number was written, slightly glossy with the imprint of lipstick. He hadn't moved. He hadn’t spoken. Just sat there, blinking slowly at the dash, one hand still curled lightly around the steering wheel like the rest of him hadn’t caught up yet.

The passenger door swung open.

Robin flopped into the seat beside him with a huff, the slight tilt in her voice and sway in her movements letting him know immediately that she had been drinking just enough to be fun, not enough to be sloppy. Her eyeliner had smudged beneath one eye and the hem of her jeans was damp like she’d stepped in something outside.

“Okay,” she said immediately, slamming the door. “Did we unlock, like, twin psychic powers or something? Because I was literally just thinking I was ready to leave, and here you are. Engine running. Lights on. Staring off into the void like you’re in a music video.”

Steve blinked at her.

Robin squinted. “Wait. Is that… is that lipstick?” She leaned closer. “Why is there lipstick on your mouth?”

She didn’t wait for an answer before her eyes dropped to his arm.

“Oh my God. You got a number?” She pointed. “Steve. What the hell did I miss?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just looked down at his arm, where the number was still written clearly in neat black eyeliner, a little curve at the bottom of the sevens, a tiny heart tucked into the loop of the nine. He could still read every digit. Still feel the heat of you pressed against him in the backseat, the weight of your legs tangled beneath his, the warmth of your hand on his chest and the soft, surprised laugh you’d given when his fingers brushed the skin just beneath her shirt. He started to tell Robin basically everything.

“You’ve never even talked to her before,” she said, leaning back like he’d just revealed he kissed a ghost.

He smiled a little, still watching his arm. “Yeah. I know.”

Robin shook her head, hands lifted like she was trying to rearrange the pieces in the air. “Okay. Okay, wait. Start from the beginning. You kissed her?”

“She kissed me first,” he said, his voice softer than he meant it to be. “And then I kissed her back. In the house. Then in the car.”

Robin gave him a look like he had just dropped into her life from another dimension.

“And she gave you her number. And then what? She just left?”

Steve nodded. “Eddie Munson showed up. Her ride, I guess. She said she had to go. Wrote it on my arm and told me I knew where to find her.”

Robin blinked slowly. “Didn’t even get a pen and paper? Rookie move.”

He shot her a look. “It was fast.”

She grinned and he turned the key in the ignition and the engine purred to life. They started down the street, the house fading in the rearview.

Robin was still watching him when she asked, quieter this time, “Are you gonna call her?”

He hesitated. His grip on the wheel tightened slightly as the taillights of another car flashed by. “Yeah,” he said. “I think so.”

Robin raised an eyebrow. “That was a think. Not a yes.”

He glanced at his arm again, at the number still sharp against his skin. “I’m gonna call her.”

She gave a satisfied little nod and leaned back into her seat with a pleased hum, letting the car ride quiet for a few blocks.

When they reached her house, she lingered a second before getting out. “You look like a guy who’s still standing in the backseat of his own brain.”

Steve laughed, eyes flicking up to hers. “I’m good. Just… tired.”

Robin smirked. “You’ve got lipstick on your wrist and a stupid grin, Harrington. You’re not fooling anyone.”

Then she slipped out, giving the door a casual slam behind her.

He got home and didn’t shower. Didn’t even change. Just dropped onto his bed fully dressed, the sheets cool against his back as the ceiling blurred above him.

When morning came, sunlight cutting through the blinds like a slow burn, he groaned and rubbed at his eyes. His arm was under the pillow. His heart kicked a little when he pulled it out.

The number was there. But not all of it.

Some of the digits had smeared into one another. The lower half of the five had vanished. One of the twos looked more like a question mark. His stomach sank.

“Shit,” he muttered, sitting up and squinting at the mess of eyeliner ink.

It was still partly there. But not enough. Not clearly.

He slumped back into the bed, one hand over his face.

“Shit.”

He should’ve written it down.

You said he knew where to find you.

He just hoped you were right.

The Hideout is half-lit, half-clean, and entirely the same kind of sad it always is on a Tuesday night. You scrub the lip of a pint glass with a rag that’s already damp and smell faintly of citrus cleaner and tequila from a spill earlier. Bev’s yelling something about inventory from behind the register, and you’re half-listening, mostly just keeping your head down behind the bar while the jukebox loops the same Stones song it played twenty minutes ago.

Your tank top sticks slightly where sweat meets your spine, and you tug at the hem of your skirt, the one with the frayed edge and safety pins at the side. Your boots are already killing your feet, but it's not worth taking them off until last call. You roll your eyes at the clock — 9:56 — and exhale. Four minutes until Eddie switches from barback to frontman, and you’re still picking dried limes out of the garnish tray.

“He hasn’t called, huh?” Eddie says, coming around the bar with an empty crate in his hands. There’s sweat on his collar and a mischievous glint in his eyes that makes you instantly suspicious.

You glance at him, annoyed. “Would I be complaining if he had?”

Eddie shrugs, setting the crate down with a clatter. “I don’t know. Some people are into the slow burn.”

You scoff. “Some people don’t write their numbers on someone’s arm like it’s a receipt and then disappear into the night.”

“Well,” he says, leaning in like he’s telling you a secret. “Maybe he thinks the moment was the main event. One-night kiss. A memory. Bam.”

You smack his arm with the towel and he laughs, stepping back dramatically like you’ve wounded him. “Ow. Jesus. Sorry for being realistic.”

“You’re being an ass.”

“And yet, somehow still charming,” he grins. “Come on. You’re not actually into Steve Harrington, are you?”

You don’t say anything. Just go back to stacking glasses and pretending you don’t feel your face heat up.

That’s enough for Eddie.

He straightens, eyes going wide and gleaming like he’s just cracked a code. “No shit. You like him.”

You glare at him, but it’s too late. His grin stretches so wide you can practically see the joy leak out of him.

“I knew there was something weird about you Saturday night. You were soft. You were, dare I say, giddy.”

“Drop it.”

“I won’t,” he says, snatching the bar towel out of your hand and tossing it back into the sink. “This is the best thing that’s happened all week.”

You sigh and lean against the counter, just as the low hum of his amp buzzes from the back room. You catch the time again. It just hit ten.

“You’re gonna miss your big gig,” you say, nudging your chin toward the stage.

He huffs dramatically, ripping off his apron and tossing it toward Bev’s desk. “Bev! I’m off the clock. If anyone throws up, it’s your problem!”

“Just try not to throw up on the mic again,” she calls back without looking.

Eddie flips her off fondly as he grabs his guitar case and heads for the makeshift stage, shooting you one last shit-eating grin. “Don’t pine too hard while I’m gone!”

You roll your eyes and mutter something rude under your breath, but it doesn’t stop the smile from tugging at your lips.

The place settles back into its usual rhythm with slow drinks, slower conversations, and that low dive bar buzz that always feels like it belongs to a different decade. You go back to work, but every now and then, your eyes flick to the door.

Still no sign of Steve. There was no way he would step foot in this place anyway. God, how could you be this stupid to think he’d ever think to come here?

Steve sat in his car in the cracked parking lot of The Hideout, fingers tapping the steering wheel like it might magically give him courage. The place didn’t look like much. Faded paint, busted neon sign, the smell of old beer clinging to the breeze. Definitely not his scene. But then again, you didn’t really seem like you cared about scenes. You were always a little left of center.

He had jumped through hoops to get here. Asking around, subtle questions, awkward ones too. 

It was almost midnight. He had been sitting here for ten minutes, trying to talk himself into going inside. His palms were clammy. Which was stupid. He didn’t get nervous like this. Not over girls. Not even when they looked at him the way you had.

He finally stepped out of the car, shut the door a little too hard, and adjusted his jacket like it made a difference. The door to the Hideout stuck a little when he pushed it open, creaking like it wanted to warn him.

Inside, the bar was hazy and low-lit, with the kind of smell that made you wonder if anything had ever been truly clean in here. A jukebox hummed something classic and familiar. You were behind the bar, drying a glass with your fingers moving on autopilot. Your hair was pulled back loosely, and your tank top clung in a way that made his throat go dry. You looked tired, a little annoyed, and exactly the way he remembered.

Eddie was perched on a stool, sweat still shining along his neck like he’d just come off stage. He looked comfortable. Too comfortable.

Steve didn’t move yet. He just stood there, letting his eyes trace the edges of the place, letting his nerves settle somewhere low in his stomach. That’s when a sharp voice snapped him out of it.

“You looking for someone, pretty boy?”

The other bartender was older, sharp-eyed, with a raspy voice that didn’t sound like it had time for bullshit. She was watching him like she already knew the answer.

“Uh, yeah,” he said. “I think so.”

Her eyes followed the direction of his gaze. Then she smirked. “Hey, girl. You’ve got company.”

Steve wasn’t sure what kind of welcome he expected, but it definitely wasn’t her barking your name across the bar like she was announcing last call.

You looked up fast, eyes catching on him like a hook. For a second, you didn’t move. You just stared. Then your brow lifted, expression unreadable as you glanced at Bev, then back at Steve. Your hands dropped from the bar top to your apron, working the knot loose with fingers that seemed steadier than he imagined you felt.

“Hey, Bev?” you called, already folding the apron in half as you head around the bar. “I’m gonna head out a little early.”

Bev gave you a look. “Oh yeah? You leaving me high and dry now?”

You tilted your head toward Eddie without missing a beat. “He’s gonna help you.”

Steve watched the exchange unfold, feeling like he had stepped into a conversation mid-sentence. Eddie blinked, caught mid-sip of a soda, then let out a dramatic sigh as he wiped his mouth on the back of his hand.

“You’re unbelievable,” he muttered, not even pretending to sound mad.

You just smiled, turning away to grab your jacket from the stool beside you. The sleeves were inside out and you shook them loose with one firm snap, threading your arms through like you’d done it a thousand times before. Steve noticed the way your hair caught in the collar before you swept it free. You moved like someone who wasn’t rushing but also didn’t want to linger. There was a quiet decisiveness to you, like you'd already made up your mind before he even stepped foot inside.

Eddie was still watching. His fingers tapped absently against the edge of the bar. “This better be worth it,” he said, mostly to you. “You owe me one hell of a tip.”

“I’ll buy you a burger,” you replied, patting his back as you passed.

“Burgers are not equivalent but sure,” Eddie called after you, grinning now. “Go forth and be gross, or whatever.”

You shook your head but didn’t look back.

Steve’s throat was dry again, his heartbeat somewhere north of normal. When you reached him, you didn’t speak at first. Just stood there, close enough that he caught the lingering scent of citrus and tequila on your shirt. Your eyes were searching his face like you were trying to figure out if he meant to be here or if he’d wandered in by accident.

“You want to get out of here?” you asked softly.

He swallowed and nodded, words catching awkward in his chest. “Yeah. Yeah, let’s do that.”

You turned toward the door without waiting for a response. He followed a beat later, holding the door as the heavy wood groaned shut behind you both, spilling you out into the cool midnight air.

You walk beside him under the dim lights of the parking lot, boots tapping on cracked pavement while Steve keeps his hands shoved in the pockets of his jacket. The air carries a faint bite, not quite cold, but enough to pull a shiver up your spine once the bar door clicks shut behind you.

“It’s a little cool for this time of year,” he says, glancing up at the sky like it’ll offer some explanation. “Guess it’s starting to feel like fall already.”

You nod, but the silence stretches, thick with whatever hasn’t been said yet. You stop by the back of his car, close enough to catch the way his breath fogs a little in the air. He doesn’t unlock it right away, just shifts on his heels like he’s trying to figure out what to do with himself.

“Is your car here?” he asks, hesitant.

You shake your head. “Eddie was my ride to work tonight.”

He nods slowly, like he’s processing that, and then there’s another beat of silence. You go to say something simple, something like “You didn’t call”, but at the same time, he blurts out, “So… is Eddie your boyfriend?”

You both freeze.

Your eyes meet in the wash of yellow light from the streetlamp overhead. For a second, neither of you speaks.

Then you clear your throat and ask, “Is that why you didn’t call?”

He lets out a soft laugh, a little sheepish, a little breathless. “No. Your number smudged off my arm.”

You huff a dry laugh and shake your head. “Should’ve given it to you in a better way than eyeliner.”

His mouth quirks like he’s about to make a joke but doesn’t. Instead, he looks at you with a soft sort of curiosity.

“So… how’d you find me?”

That makes him laugh, fuller this time. “I, uh. Called Robin. Asked her for Vickie’s number. Then I called Vickie to ask for your number, but she didn’t have it. So she told me you bartended at The Hideout. Which… I didn’t even know was a real place until like, yesterday.”

You tilt your head, smiling despite yourself. “So you just… came here?”

“I drove around the block like five times first. Thought I might chicken out. Came by last night too, but you weren’t working.”

You squint at him. “How’d you know that?”

“I looked through the window,” he admits, rubbing the back of his neck. “Didn’t see you. Got back in the car and felt like an idiot.”

You laugh, and that seems to settle something between you.

Steve waits, eyes still steady on yours. You know he’s still wondering.

“No,” you say finally, answering the question from earlier. “He’s not my boyfriend. He’s just… a pain in my ass. We work together.”

He doesn’t react big, but you can see the way his shoulders drop slightly, like he’d been bracing for something and didn’t even realize it. He nods, stuffing his hands back in his pockets.

“So,” you ask, nudging him slightly with your elbow. “What was your plan here?”

He glances around, half-laughs again. “I actually didn’t have one.”

You smile. “Then I’ll make the plan.”

That earns a softer, slightly stunned look. The kind that makes you pause for a second too long.

Steve moves quickly then, like he wants to be helpful, like he’s remembering what it means to try. He crosses to the passenger side and pulls the door open for you, stepping back like a gentleman out of some old movie. You slide in without teasing him about it, just this once.

He jogs around to the driver’s side and climbs in. His fingers fumble slightly on the keys as he starts the engine, but the smile tugging at his mouth never leaves.

And for a second, it feels like the night is starting over. Just the two of you, finally on the same page.

You’re both sitting on the hood of his car, legs stretched out toward the lake, backs warm against the curve of metal. There’s a grocery bag half-full of snacks between you, an open sleeve of Oreos, a crushed can of Sprite, a half-eaten bag of chips. He hadn’t even known what he wanted when you dragged him into the 7-Eleven, just followed your lead while you grabbed things like it was some kind of treasure hunt.

You really like Twizzlers.

He wouldn’t have guessed that. He’s still learning things about you, small things, silly things. You don’t like slushies unless they’re half-melted. You hum when you chew sometimes. You talk with your hands more when you’re excited. And your laugh, when you’re really laughing, isn’t soft or shy. It’s loud, wild, unfiltered. Like you don’t care who hears it.

Steve thinks maybe that’s his favorite thing about you so far.

You’re talking about something dumb now, something about a teacher who never showed up for class in high school, and he finds himself laughing along, really laughing, the kind that catches him off guard. It’s been so long since he’s felt like this. Comfortable. Loose. Not trying to impress anyone. Not trying to outrun anything.

For a second, he thinks about telling you everything. About how hard it’s been. About the stuff he doesn’t say out loud. The things that get heavy and stay that way. The monsters. The battles. The things he's lost and the things he's gained along the way. But he doesn’t. Not yet.

Instead, he just listens. Lets himself sink into the rhythm of your voice. The lake laps quietly behind you, the trees swaying in the distance, just barely rustling. 

Eventually, the snacks are forgotten. You lean back on your hands and stretch out your legs, your boots tapping lightly against the bumper. Steve doesn’t say anything for a moment. He just watches you, watches the way the moonlight hits the curve of your jaw. And then his fingers reach for yours, tentative at first, before settling into the spaces between them.

You glance over at him, and your brow lifts. “You’re gonna kiss me, aren’t you?”

It knocks the wind out of him for a second. He huffs a laugh. “What? That obvious?”

You smile, teasing. “You were doing that thing. The guy thing. Looking all soft and inching closer.”

He pretends to be offended. “It’s a classic move.”

“Mm.” You tilt your head. “I used to think that stuff was cheesy.”

Steve shifts slightly, still holding your hand. “And now?”

Your voice softens, like the question snuck up on you. “I don’t mind it as much as I thought I would.”

That’s all it takes.

He brings a hand to your face, slow and careful, like he’s not entirely sure you’ll let him. But you do. His palm fits against your cheek, thumb brushing lightly near your jaw, and then he’s leaning in.

The kiss is soft at first. Unrushed. Just his lips on yours, warm and sure, like a question with an answer he already knows. You sigh a little against his mouth, and his hand slips to the back of your neck.

It deepens after that. Not suddenly, but steadily. Your fingers tug at the edge of his jacket, pulling him closer. His other hand finds your waist as he shifts, bracing himself against the hood of the car, half over you now. His weight is careful, his breath a little faster.

When you finally break apart, he keeps close. Your noses nearly touch.

His voice is lower, almost hopeful. “You wanna go finish what we started the other night?”

And then, realizing how it sounds, he stammers, “Not that I’m assuming anything. I just meant—”

You kiss him again, quick and firm, cutting him off. “You can assume.”

It floors him, the way you say it. Confident. Certain. Like you know what you want.

He smiles against your mouth and kisses you again.

Then the car creaks under you both as you shift, and you move to slide off the hood. Steve helps you down gently, steadying you with both hands.

The night around you is quiet, but his heart is loud in his chest.

And when you reach for the back door, he follows.

Once inside the backseat, you shrug out of your jacket. The lining snags for half a second before it slips off, and you toss it lazily into the front seat.

It lands with a crumpled sort of flop, not exactly where you meant for it to go.

Steve notices.

You see it in the way his eyes follow the motion, then flick toward his own jacket. He shrugs out of it too, folding it with a little more care than you did

He hesitates for a second, then he’s getting in.

The door shuts behind him with a soft thunk, sealing out the night, and just like that, he’s over you again.

It happens fast, but with certainty. His hands frame your face as his mouth finds yours, and it’s deeper this time. He kisses like someone who knows how to do it well, who isn’t guessing or fumbling or holding back. It’s sweet, but confident. Like he already knows you like it.

And you do.

Which is kind of the problem.

Because it suddenly occurs to you—mid-kiss, mid-hands-in-your-hair—that he’s probably done this a lot. Not in a sleazy way. Just in a… practiced way. The kind that comes from having been wanted, again and again. You’re not a prude. You’re no stranger to being touched, to touching back. But there’s something about him that catches you off guard, just enough to still your body beneath his.

It’s small, a moment, but he notices. Of course he does.

He pulls back just slightly, his fingers still grazing your cheek. “Hey,” he says softly. “It’s been a while. This isn’t, like, a common occurrence for me anymore.”

You blink at him. “How did you—”

He smiles, warm and a little knowing. “Just a hunch.”

You tilt your head, giving him a look.

He nods, just once. “Probably been since… my last relationship.”

You don’t have to ask who he means. You already know. It’s written across the tilt of his mouth, the tone of his voice. It doesn’t sting. Not exactly. It just… settles into the space between you.

You roll your eyes and lean your head back against the seat. “Damn. That long?”

He doesn’t answer.

He just kisses your neck.

And yeah, that shuts you up pretty quickly.

It’s just enough to make your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, to tilt your chin and let your eyes close for a second too long. His breath is warm where it ghosts across your collarbone. His hand is steady at your side, and when you shift slightly beneath him, the whole car creaks in quiet response. His hand starts to lift the hem of your tank top, just like the other night. His palms find your soft skin, the way your stomach is soft against the waistband of your denim skirt, the heavy curve of your breast. He pauses to pull back for a moment.

"Do you like...ever wear a bra?" It's strained a little, like he's excited and not judging.

You laugh a little nervously. You didn't hate your body and you weren't like, ashamed or anything for being curvier. You just knew you'd never look like some cover girl or runway model. "Uh, sometimes? They can be uncomfortable since I'm not exactly... lacking in the chest department-"

"Understatement." He whispered, almost like he wasn't meaning to say it out loud. He could tell by the intake of your breath that you weren't exactly sure how to take that.

Was that a compliment? Was he not into your body?

"No!" He nearly shouted. "Shit, I mean. That's not what I meant. Not like I don't want them, it's just..."

"Just..?" You prodded, not angry or mad but you didn't exactly feel flattered either.

"Just, I'm not used to...you know." He gestured lamely, not sure what exactly was appropriate to say. "They're a lot to handle."

You were smiling, laughing a little, the awkwardness melting a bit. "And that's a... good thing?"

"Hell yes it's a good thing."

The words are warm against your throat, and he's kissing you again, and god, he really isn't lying. You can feel it. The heat pooling between your legs. You can feel that he's already hard through his jeans, pressed tight against you with your skirt pushed up around your waist just from the position alone.

His hands lower, moving to lift your top off of you. You don't stop him, raising your arms so he can tug it free. It falls to the floor of the car and he's staring at you again. Looking.

"Damn." He mutters, and you're not sure what he means but his eyes are hungry and the look sends a jolt straight down your spine. "A good thing. Two very...good things."

You want to laugh at it, how unsmooth he was in this moment. Maybe make a joke about him being a boob guy. But you don't, because he leans forward, his mouth trailing kisses down your collarbone and chest, and suddenly you realize what he's doing. He's taking his time, letting his lips explore. His tongue slides against your nipple, and the sensation makes you gasp. He grins, the cocky son of a bitch, and does it again.

"I can't-" Your head tips back, and his teeth are grazing against the swell of your breast now. "God, I can't believe we're doing this."

"You?" he lets out a laugh against your breast before continuing to the other, palming and squeezing with his free hand. "I can't believe you let me do this. I've been dying to see what you look like."

His mouth closes around your other nipple, the same attention as the first, and it makes your hips shift up without even realizing, your nails digging into his shirt a little.

"Shit." He's looking at you again, eyes dark and focused. "You're so goddamn gorgeous. You're like… so confident."

You look surprised at that. Sure, he had said it before, at the party. But that was about how you carried yourself, not how you were in a position like this. He continued to talk as he gave your breasts the attention they deserve.

"You know, you like... you know what you want. In life. And like... with this. It's a little unnerving." The way he kept saying these things without his mouth or hands leaving the soft flesh of your breasts was almost too much to handle.

"Is it bad?" You asked, voice breathless as his hands trailed down your stomach and hooked onto your skirt.

"No! No no no. It's really hot. You're really hot. This is just... really fucking hot." He sits up a little, brushing some hair back. He's out of breath a little as he looks at you, smiling a little crooked and soft.

You reach for the hem of his shirt and start to pull it up, keeping your eyes on his.

He shakes his head, grinning, and helps you remove his shirt. He's a little more toned than you expected. Covered in freckles and moles, soft dark chest hair that tapered lower. There's a scar on his side and you run your hand over it, wondering where he got it.

"I'll tell you another time," he whispers. "Just... this is good. This is really, really good."

His hand goes under your skirt, fingertips ghosting over your underwear and the heat that's waiting for him. He groans a little at the wet spot and leans his head forward to kiss you again, tongue sliding in deep and slow.

"Tell me if anything isn't okay, alright?" he murmurs pulling away, and your heart warms a little at the thoughtfulness.

"I will."

He keeps kissing you as his hand moves over your underwear, teasing and pressing in all the right places. It makes you arch a little, wanting more pressure. More contact. More of him.

"Steve..."

He's missed that. The sound of someone saying his name like that. Someone who sees him. Maybe, he thinks, he's never actually really had that. Maybe that's why it sounds so damn good coming from you.

He pulls your underwear to the side and lets a finger slide between your folds. It makes you gasp, a small noise that makes his cock jump a little. He presses a bit harder, running up and down, making sure he's touching every part. You're dripping, and he can feel how hot and wet you are, how much you want this.

"You're so..." He lets out a breath of air that could be a laugh. "God, everything I would usually say sounds so cheesy right now."

You bite your lip, trying to hide a smile. He's a charmer. Always has been.

"I bet," you start, gasping as his thumb hits your clit.

"Mmm," he hums, smiling against your jaw. "I was going to say you're perfect. Or maybe you're amazing. Or maybe..."

He pauses, placing soft open mouth kisses along your neck, up to your earlobe. His breath hitches as his hand moves against you, fingertips skimming over where you’re already soaked for him. His mouth is close to your ear now, and for a second, he hesitates. He’s not nervous, exactly. Just… aware. That this is new territory. That you’re letting him in. That he really doesn’t want to mess this up by saying the wrong thing.

Fuck. Just say it. Say something real. She’s the kind of girl who wants real. Even if it’s dumb.

“…that I want to fuck you stupid.”

It’s barely more than a whisper. A little rough around the edges. Like he’s trying it out, half-expecting you to laugh or blink or flinch or do anything that would confirm he shouldn’t have said it.

But you don’t.

You go still for a second, and then… a soft, shaky exhale that sounds almost like a moan.

Okay. You definitely liked that.

That was… good. That was very, very good.

His mouth presses lower, over your collarbone, your shoulder, your chest again. He can’t stop himself from grinning a little into your skin as his hand slips fully under the fabric of your underwear now, no teasing this time. Just slow, steady pressure where you need it most. His fingers slide through your folds again, then back up, circling your clit with more intent.

You arch, a soft gasp escaping your lips.

“Yeah?” he murmurs against your skin. “That feel good?”

You nod and he shifts, bringing his body closer. The angle makes his jeans rub between your thighs, and the friction makes you groan low in your throat.

Steve swears softly.

He wants more.

His hand leaves you just long enough to tug your underwear down and off, tossing them somewhere onto the floorboard. Then he's kissing you again, hungrily this time, his tongue sliding against yours as his hand returns to your thigh. His fingers trail up between your legs and slide inside you, slow and smooth. One, then two.

You grip his shoulders, your head falling back against the seat as your hips grind up to meet him.

“Jesus,” he mutters. “You feel so good.”

His other hand finds your knee, steadying you as he curls his fingers inside of you, just right. He watches you, your face, your breath, the way your mouth falls open. He drinks it all in like it’s the only thing he’s ever wanted.

Your hips roll again as he curls his fingers inside you, and your hand moves without thinking. It slips down to the button on his jeans, fumbling slightly as you try to work it open. You manage it, breath catching when you feel how hard he already is. The zipper lowers with a soft rasp, and your fingers press over the front of his boxers.

Steve groans low in his throat. His forehead drops against your shoulder for a second, and when he lifts his head again, there is a flicker of something in his eyes. Something real.

“God, baby, that feels…” he trails off. Then his face changes, a small spark of panic cutting through the haze. “Shit. I called you baby. Is that okay? I didn’t mean to, I mean—unless you like it, then—”

“I like it.” You cut him off gently, smiling up at him. “It’s good.”

Relief washes over his features, and he kisses you like a thank you. Deep, slow, open-mouthed and messy, his tongue sweeping against yours while your hand moves against him. You can feel the shape of him through the thin fabric, the way he’s pressing into your touch. The way his body seems to tremble slightly, just at the feeling of being wanted. His fingers are back inside you and it’s clumsy and perfect, both of you touching each other, breathing faster, mouths not straying far from skin.

He pulls back only long enough to get his jeans off completely, wriggling out of them in the cramped backseat with a quiet curse. You help where you can, tugging at the denim until it’s somewhere near the front, and then he’s back over you, the heat of him impossible to ignore through the thin cotton of his boxers.

Your skirt is still caught around your waist. He reaches for it, trying to pull it down, but it sticks slightly at your thighs. He huffs, laughing a little under his breath. He tries again, gentler this time, and the fabric finally slips lower. His hands slow as he looks at you, and for a second he just stays still.

You blink up at him, confused by the pause. Then you see his expression and it melts something in your chest.

“I’ve never actually had a girl totally naked back here,” he says. “Always been a little more hurried. Awkward.”

It’s quiet. Soft. Like a secret. Like something he’s been carrying and didn’t expect to say out loud. There’s nothing lewd in the way he says it. It’s sweet. A little disbelieving. He looks at you like he doesn’t want to forget a second of this. Not the way your skin glows under the dim dome light. Not the flush creeping up your neck. Not the way you look at him like you want him just as much.

You reach up and brush your fingers through his hair, smiling with something warm behind it. The kind of smile that says you want him too. Not just here. Not just now. But him.

And God, he wants you right back.

You trailed your fingertips from the soft strands of his hair down along his jaw, mapping the shape of him. His breath hitched, and you smiled against his mouth. You kept going, down the line of his throat, across the curve of his collarbone. You felt every subtle shift in him, the rise and fall of his chest, the way his breath stuttered slightly beneath your palm. He didn’t stop you. If anything, his hands paused where they’d been exploring you, just so he could feel it too. Your touch. The way you were seeing him.

He watched you with a kind of quiet awe, like he wasn’t used to being the one someone else was focused on. Not just in the heat of the moment, but in the soft, deliberate ways that came with real interest. You dragged your fingers down the center of his chest, over the muscles there, your nails light and slow and just teasing enough to make him shiver. You reached the waistband of his boxers and paused, looking up at him.

He looked a little dazed, eyes half-lidded and warm.

With both hands, you curled your fingers beneath the waistband and started to slide them down. His hips lifted slightly to help, and the fabric came off awkwardly, a little stuck for a second, making both of you laugh under your breath before it finally dropped away completely. You tossed them aside, and when you looked back at him, his face had gone soft again, tender in the way he was watching you.

He leaned in and kissed you, slow and deep, and you could tell how much he liked it. Not just the act of kissing, but the closeness of it. The way it anchored him. The way it made everything else melt away. His hand cupped the side of your face and you could feel him smiling into it, like he was quietly amazed by how much this was affecting him. How good this felt.

And you realized something then.

Steve Harrington really loved kissing. Especially when things were getting heated. Maybe even more than most.

It wasn’t just an opener for him. It was part of the whole thing. A way to stay connected even when it was starting to spiral in all the right directions. You could feel it in the way his lips moved against yours. Slow, then firmer. The way his body stayed close, how he sighed into you like he didn’t want to be anywhere else.

You kissed him back harder, your body arching into his again, and he let out a low groan from somewhere deep in his chest. You felt it more than you heard it, that sound sinking into you, that pull toward something deeper. He was pressed right against you, the head of his cock teasing at your entrance as his lips grazed yours.

“You want this?” he asked against your mouth, his breath warm, his voice a little ragged now.

You nodded.

That was all it took.

He pushed in slowly, and the sound he made was the prettiest thing you’d ever heard from him. Soft but rough around the edges, surprised and overwhelmed. Like he couldn’t believe how good it felt. And maybe you couldn’t either.

You gasped quietly at the stretch, your fingers gripping his shoulders as he bottomed out. For a moment neither of you moved. His eyes were half-lidded, fixed on you, like he was trying to memorize everything about the way you looked right now. The way your chest rose and fell. The way your lips parted. The way you held on to him.

“Yeah. Shit. Definitely. Been a while,” he said with a breathy laugh that melted into something more like a moan. “Jesus.”

You smiled, just a little, starting to move your hips.

“Worth it?” you asked, voice light but breathless.

“God, yeah.” His response was immediate, no hesitation.

He began to move with you then, slow at first, his hands sliding beneath your back to keep you close. His mouth found yours again, kissing you like it meant something. Like you weren’t just anyone

His rhythm found a steady pace, a gentle push and pull that had you clinging to him tighter. Every motion felt deliberate. Every breath shared. It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t perfect. But it was real. You felt it in every part of you. In the way he whispered your name like it was a secret. In the way his forehead rested against yours when your bodies moved together just right. In the way his fingers trembled a little when he ran them through your hair.

“Tell me how it feels,” he murmured, voice so low you barely heard it.

You couldn’t find the words. Couldn’t think through the rush in your blood and the way your whole body pulled tighter around him. So instead, you kissed him again. Open, messy, aching. He groaned into your mouth, his hips faltering for a beat before settling back into rhythm, deeper now. More confident. More sure of what you both wanted.

He slid a hand under your thigh and hooked it over his hip, shifting the angle until it knocked the breath right out of your lungs. His mouth was by your ear now, breath warm and shivery against your skin.

"Jesus,” he muttered, his voice rough and breathy as he kissed along your neck. “That okay, baby? Going deeper like that?”

You nodded, fingers tightening where they rested against his shoulder, your body already moving with him in answer.

His lips brushed your ear, soft but a little unsteady. “You feel so good,” he said, almost like it wasn’t meant to be out loud. “So fucking good.”

You were about to respond with something equally incoherent, when he hesitated just enough that you noticed. Then his voice came quieter, more careful.

“Are you... on the pill?”

It didn’t ruin anything. If anything, it made it more real. He asked like it mattered. Like you mattered.

Before you could laugh, he thrust again and you gasped out a moaned, “Yes.” Your nails curled into his shoulders.

His smile brushed against your neck. “So I can…?”

You nodded again, words gone. All you could do was pull him closer.

“Perfect,” he breathed.

His hand slid between your bodies, fingers finding your clit with careful pressure, like he already knew what you needed. You whined his name, hips rolling into his touch, your whole body shuddering as the pressure snapped and you came around him.

Steve held on through it, working you through every second, his mouth catching the sounds you couldn’t hold back. And when you clenched tight around him, he followed with a groan low in his throat, burying his face in your shoulder as he gave in.

For a long moment, he just stayed there, breathing hard, lips pressed to your skin like he couldn’t bear to pull away just yet.

You’re both still catching your breath, skin flushed, lungs working to even out. His mouth doesn’t stop moving. He presses soft kisses to your shoulder, your collarbone, the underside of your jaw, murmuring quiet things you can barely catch. Sweet, aimless nothings like “you’re so pretty” and “did that feel okay?” like he doesn’t already know the answer.

And then he just… holds you. Still inside you, arms wrapped around your waist like he doesn’t want to let go yet. Maybe ever.

It’s quiet, the kind that settles in your bones. You feel the weight of it. Not heavy, exactly. Just real. And it hits you, the way your brain starts spinning, your thoughts creeping in. You’re lying in the back seat of his car, naked, his skin still touching yours, and suddenly your mind is racing.

What now? What does this mean? Is it going to be weird? What happens tomorrow?

Your eyes drift, unfocused, and somehow, he notices.

“I know that face,” he says quietly.

You blink, startled out of your spiral. “What face?”

He lifts his head to look at you, a smile tugging at his lips. “The face where you’re overthinking everything. Trying to figure out the next five steps like it’s all already happening.”

You want to deny it, but he’s not wrong. “How do you know?”

He shrugs a little and kisses the side of your mouth. “Because I see it in the mirror all the time.”

That makes you smile. You hadn’t expected that kind of answer, but it fits.

And then he shifts, gently pulling out of you, and you feel the loss of him in your body like the space he leaves behind is physical. He props himself up on one elbow, looks at you like he wants to say something else, but then leans forward toward the front seat instead.

You watch, blinking, as he reaches over into the glove compartment, still completely naked. His bare back is curved over the seat, awkward and stretched as he fumbles blindly, muttering something under his breath. The sight is absurd, but you don’t mind. Honestly, it’s kind of hot.

He finds what he’s looking for with a triumphant little noise and comes back with a fistful of fast-food napkins.

“What are you doing?” you ask, watching him raise an eyebrow as he starts to clean you up gently, careful like he’s done this a hundred times but never like this.

“Contrary to popular belief,” he says, glancing up at you with a teasing grin, “I can both really care about you and also my backseat.”

You laugh, soft and low, as he leans in and presses another kiss to your thigh.

He looks at you again, like he’s waiting for you to say something, and when you don’t right away, he tilts his head.

“What?”

You shake your head, smiling. “You’re just… cute.”

He snorts. “I’m literally wiping you down with a paper napkin right now.”

“Still cute.”

You sit there, warm and tangled up in each other, the mess of your clothes scattered somewhere in the car, and for a moment, you don’t care what happens next. Not yet. Because right now, he’s looking at you like there’s nowhere else he wants to be.

You’re still catching your breath when he leans back a little, tossing the used napkins into the front seat with an awkward flick of his wrist.

“Next time,” he says, running a hand through his hair, “we can, you know... I do have a bed. And towels. And a house that’s basically always empty. So...”

He trails off, blinking suddenly. Then he looks at you with wide eyes, real concern settling in. “Shit. Was that really uncomfortable? I mean, those napkins are, like, the worst kind of sandpaper. I didn’t even think. God. That must’ve—”

You laugh, cutting him off gently. “Steve. It’s fine.”

“But I was gentle, right?”

“You were,” you say, still smiling. “It’s okay. You’re very sweet. A little ridiculous, but sweet.”

Relief washes over his face and he leans in again, kissing the corner of your mouth like he needs the reassurance too. He pulls back just enough to look at you, like he’s trying to memorize this moment, and the quiet starts to stretch again.

You watch him for a second, then ask, “What are you thinking about?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just breathes out slow and soft. “Going home.”

You tilt your head at him. “Wow. Okay. Stark shift.”

His eyes widen. “No, no. I meant, like... us. Going home. My home. I just—” he pauses, mouth tugging into a sheepish half-smile. “Not for, you know, this again. Unless you want to. But more like... to sleep. To hold you. That kind of thing.”

Your chest pulls a little, warm and fluttery, and you reach up to brush your fingers over his cheek.

“Yeah,” you say. “That sounds nice.”

He leans into your touch for a beat, then smiles in that soft, lopsided way that makes your stomach flip.

“I’m really glad Robin dragged me to that party,” he says.

You press a kiss to the tip of his nose, light and barely there. “Me too.”

By the time he pulls into the driveway, you're grateful his parents are never home. The house is dark except for the porch light, and you feel the cool press of the window against your arm as he kills the ignition. You glance down at your skirt, bunched awkwardly, top halfway pulled back on, no sign of your underwear anywhere. You wince a little. He doesn’t seem to mind.

You both get out slowly, moving like people who’ve just survived something beautiful and reckless, like you’re still not sure the moment’s over.

Steve’s already at the front door when he notices you're still lingering near the car, peeking into the backseat.

“What are you looking for?” he calls, voice low but amused.

“My underwear,” you answer.

He glances back at the car, shrugs. “Yeah, uh. Don’t worry about that right now.”

“You’re not gonna just drive around town with them in there.”

“I’ll find them.”

“And give them back?”

That makes him smirk, crooked and smug. “Eventually.”

You roll your eyes but follow him inside anyway, warmth blooming in your chest before your feet even cross the threshold.

Inside, the house is still and quiet. You both toe off your shoes by the entryway without saying much. The stairs are just to the right, and Steve starts climbing without turning on any lights. You follow him up into the dark.

His room is cooler than the hall, a little messy, lived-in. He closes the door behind you but leaves the light off. It feels strangely intimate, the familiarity of it.

He peels off his shirt first, then his jeans, tossing them into the chair by his desk. He pauses at the waistband of his boxers, glancing toward you. You’re still mostly dressed, or at least trying to be. You don’t have anything to wear to bed.

“Should I borrow something?” you ask.

He considers for half a second. “Nah.”

You raise an eyebrow. He’s already stepping out of his boxers and pulling back the covers. It’s a silent kind of invitation. You don’t hesitate long before losing your clothes as well.

When you crawl in beside him, the sheets are cool, but his skin is warm. You settle in close, your legs tangling lazily beneath the blanket. For a while, there’s nothing but slow kisses and the soft brush of hands in quiet places. His fingertips trail down your spine, your arm, your side. He doesn’t rush it. There’s something calming in the way he lets things stretch between you, like he’s soaking it in, memorizing the feel of you here.

He tells you stories, soft ones, half-laughed. You respond in kind, murmuring little thoughts, lighthearted things. You kiss and touch and explore each other more. He tests out calling you 'baby' in new ways. Somewhere between your mouths and the blankets and the soft, low rhythm of touching and conversation, it starts to feel like something steady and real is growing.

And then he pulls you closer and says it, not quite a whisper, not quite a warning. “Sometimes I have nightmares.”

You pause. Your arm is draped over his middle now, your cheek against his chest. You shift slightly so you can see him in the dark, your expression careful.

You don’t ask why. You don’t press.

Instead, you say something like, “Well, good thing you don’t have to sleep alone tonight,” and it comes out quieter than you expect, but with more certainty than you feel.

He doesn’t say anything right away. Just kisses the top of your head and pulls you closer, his arm wrapping around you like he’s scared you’ll disappear. Like he’s trying to hold all the quiet back.

You fall asleep just like that, all warm skin and soft breathing, his heartbeat a steady rhythm under your cheek. His grip loosens only when sleep finally finds him, deep and dreamless for the first time in a long, long while.

“Pick your jaw up off the ground, sweetheart,” he teases as he shuffles around you in the kitchen to grab a drink, “Gonna start catching flies otherwise.” 

“There’s a joke in there somewhere about how sweet I am, right?” you blandly reply, keeping your eyes on your room temp cocktail that Steve had so graciously mixed for you upon your arrival, “Something where you call me honey or sugar, yeah?” 

Eddie pauses, bottle of vodka in hand, looking at you with big eyes lined in coal, “Oh, baby, you know me so well.” 

“Cut the pet names, Munson.”

You try to scowl. You really do. But you don’t mean a damn word you say. 

Sweetheart. Baby. Hell, even honey would have done it for you when he was wearing that costume. 

Tight leather pants, flared at the ankle. Worn leather boots that certainly had to have been thrifted, clicking with each of his steps. A cow print vest, and just a vest, over what looked to be an oiled chest. 

And that fucking hat smashing down his curls, adding a shadow across his face that only built into the illusion. 

You hate him. You hate this stupid party. You hate Steve for ever suggesting this. 

“You don’t mean that,” he sing-songs as he pours his own drink into a red solo cup. The vodka mixes with cranberry juice, you think, before he’s dropping a few ice cubes out of the freezer. “Or maybe you do, and I should try saying them with a southern drawl,” Fuck, he does a good southern accent. Slow and syrupy sweet, molasses down the throat as he flutters his lashes at you, “That better, darlin’?” 

You pluck the thin black straw that had been added to your cup for flare, probably stolen from a hotel at some point by Steve and positively meant for drinks of the coffee variety, and flick it in his direction without hesitation. 

“Terrible,” you flatly lie, “Cowboys aren’t even from the south, idiot. They’re from the West.” 

You have no desire to hear Eddie’s Western accent. No desire to hear Texan twang on those lips, putting on his best John Wayne impression. In fact, the faster you can get away from him, the quicker you can get yourself under control. 

It had always been this way between you and Eddie. Push and pull. Will they, won’t they. A game of cosmic shores as the two of you toed at each other’s orbits and bantered effortlessly. Flirtatious threats, inappropriate compliments, lewd innuendos – you had done it all, specifically with Eddie.

That’s just how the friendship worked. 

The friendship. 

Friend. Nothing more, nothing less. 

Eddie won’t leave you alone, though, choosing to lean up against the counter beside you, forcing his way into your peripherals, “Damn. You’re right. Wayne would kill me if he knew I mixed that up.” 

“Oh, I think he has plenty of reasons to knock some sense into you.” 

“Yeah?” he leans forward, tauntingly, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth, “Why don’t you do it for him? I think I’d like a slap more coming from you, honestly.”

He’s acting like he always does. This is normal. The fact that his entire torso is on show and you can’t stop staring at the way his tattoo on his peck is shimmering doesn’t change that. 

You play the role, knowing your part well as you lean in as well, forcing a smile right back at him, “Wanna kiss my knuckles before I do it, or am I gonna have to do all the hard work here?” 

“Oh, trust me, you’d never have to do all the work with me, ba-”

“Can you two get a fucking room?” Robin interrupts as she enters the room, clearly coming in for a refill but getting more than she bargained for. 

You’re aflame with the shame and embarrassment, feeling it lick from your ankles up to your throat, as Eddie only chuckles lowly. 

“Sorry, Robs,” Eddie chirps, not sounding apologetic at all, “I promise I’ll behave myself the rest of the night.” 

And yet, despite the words you’re hearing him say out loud, he does the exact opposite. 

There’s no real need for him to do it. There’s plenty of space amongst the kitchen for him to maneuver his way out without laying a single hand on you – and yet he still fucking does. 

His palm is shockingly warm when it curls around your hip, his other hand occupied with a drink, encouraging you to move a step forward so that he can brush behind you far too close for comfort. You nearly stumble over himself as he does it. The feeling of his barren chest barely bumping your bare shoulder blades sends your mind reeling, and his staple rings that have incorporated into his costume press right through the thin fabric of your dress.

Your breathing stops entirely as he pauses, the slightest bit of skin still brushing against yours, and leans in with a boyish grin, “We’ll both be on our best behavior tonight – right, kitty?” 

Something clicks in your mind. The way the nickname rolls off his tongue as he’s looking at you with eyes flaming with mischief, hand lingering on your hip for far too long. 

Your eyes flicker up to the hat on his head, and you smile slowly, meeting his toying gaze, “Right, cowboy.”

Best behavior, your ass. Tonight, you have decided, ends the will they, won’t they of it all. 

It’s about to either be the best night of your life, or the worst. 

—

Another shot with Nancy. Another smoke with Argyle. Another adjusting of Steve’s corset when he complains he can’t breathe (he certainly can, but you’re starting to think he just likes the attention). The pregaming continues on as more of Steve’s friends from work show up, the apartment slowly beginning to buzz with the chatter of more strangers than you can count on one hand.

You’re not even at the club yet and you’re already regretting your revealing attire.

Eddie stays mostly preoccupied with his own devices, and only gets scolded a handful of times by Nancy. You can hear every lewd joke he makes, of course. At some point, you make a private drinking game out of it; a sip for every time he makes the stereotypical joke of ‘save a horse, ride a cowboy’. 

Well, it was a sip the first time. A slightly larger gulp the second time. A chugging of half your drink the third time. 

“There’s no fucking way,” Steve laments at the table the boys as well as a few guests you don’t recognize have taken over for a game of strip poker, “Jonathan is cheating. Or counting cards.”

“I concur,” Eddie mutters around his cigarette, scowling at his losing hand. 

“You’re also cheating, asshole. This is the first round you’ve lost the entire game.”

“Or maybe I’m just really good at cards, Harrington.” 

“Oh, yeah? Well, maybe I’m really good at-”

“He’s not cheating,” Nancy interrupts with a sigh from the couch, lounging as she’s served as a referee of sorts for the group. Her entire body weight is draped against Robin, and you’re certainly not going to comment on Robin’s hands toying with her permed locks, “Stop being a sore loser and just strip.” 

You get why Steve was the most upset. He was down to his underwear and socks, corset tossed somewhere far behind him and bunny ears placed on Robin’s head in place of her pirate hat that she had claimed became too warm. 

“I think Steve should trade both socks and put back on the bunny ears,” she quips as she reaches up for the headband, flicking at one of the floppy ears, “He’d look cuter that way.” 

“Fuck off,” he snaps, throwing up a middle finger as Argyle finally loses his shirt. 

When your attention has drifted, you know he did exactly that, though. 

The game had been boring you half to death, honestly. Watching Steve strip without fail every round, hearing the loud cheers from Argyle when he managed to win a few rounds in a row and exclaimed it was a turkey (it had taken a ten minute intermission to explain to him that was bowling, not poker), watching a few of the girls that Steve had invited fawn over him as they carefully removed boots and gloves when they lost – none of it sparked your interest. The only saving grace had been every smug look Eddie offered as he’d win, time and time again. So far, he’d only lost his boots. 

He was hot when he was cocky. There was no way around it.

And now, as he carefully pondered as to which part of his precious costume to part with, you were on the edge of your seat. He was lovely and enticing when he was excited, when he was jubilant with victory, but as a sore loser? 

Dear God, Eddie Munson was a gorgeous specimen with a pout on his lips. 

“Trying to decide what to take off, Munson?” Jonathan notices the way Eddie is hesitating, even through the offset of conversations that had sparked up in the brief pause amongst the growing group.

You lean forward on the couch, almost subconsciously. 

You don’t care what Stacy from Steve’s job thinks of their manager or the latest drama ongoing there, and Steve would probably agree with you if it weren’t for Stacy’s all-red, latex Devil costume.

Eddie scoffs, waving a hand over his attire, “Obviously. You know, it’s not easy to choose when you have a costume as damn good as mine.” 

“What? Don’t think you’ll be as pretty without your hat?” you decide to contribute to the teasing, shocking yourself in the process. 

The last thing you should do when you’re staring him down in this way, is bring attention to yourself. And yet you were, like some fucking idiot with a death wish. 

“You think I’m pretty?”

It’s the fluttering of his lashes as he says it that gives you the courage. They match all that fluttering in your stomach, all that buzzing across your nerves. Because – yeah, you thought he was real fucking pretty. You’d spent the last half hour imagining how pretty he’d look in all sorts of places, too, especially between your sheets and between your thighs. 

You’re up off the couch, taking confident steps towards where he’s seated at the ground on the other side of the coffee table. It’s a little inconvenient now, but it had been a blessing in disguise for most of the game as you’d had a front row seat to the sight of him. 

“Oh, don’t get ahead of yourself,” you tease, entirely ignoring that lightheaded feeling you get anytime Eddie looks up at you this way. Half-lidded eyes, crooked grin. He’s dangerous and he doesn’t even know it, “I only meant you were pretty with the hat.” 

“You wound me,” he gasps, dropping back on his hands dramatically, his pout now for dramatics rather than genuine, “Gonna stand there and tell me I’m not pretty when I dressed up just for you?”

You have to take a deep breath to compose yourself, cross your arms to steady your guard, “Just for me?” 

He was playing that same old, tired game of yours. The same dance the two of you had memorized the steps to – and something inside of you has grown restless of it. You don’t want to keep skirting around each other with double-meaning jokes, you don’t want to keep painting humor over your flirtatious remarks. You want a damn answer to the age old question of will they, won’t they?

And you want that answer to be will they – terribly, terribly so.

His eyes trail along the room slowly, not avoiding you but trying to draw out the anticipation in you as he sucks in a breath, “Okay, and maybe for Steve. And Nancy. And Argyle. And Jonathan. And- Well, I’d say Robin, but I don’t think she’s looked twice in my direction all night.” 

“I haven’t,” the brunette chirps happily from the couch, still letting the weight of Nancy comfortably dig into her. 

You have no idea how she’s tuned into the conversation, given the way most of everyone else around the room was entirely ignoring the two of you. 

“So,” you all but purr, leaning down to be more level with Eddie. You already know where his focus wanders when his eyes don’t meet yours, “Not just for me, cowboy.” 

He’s distracted, staring at your chest as you notice him slip up in his brave facade for a second. Almost as though you’ve gone too far, pushed the limits a bit too hard. Good. You want to break this. You want to shatter whatever cage the two of you have built.

In one smooth movement, your hand reaches out and snatches the hat right off his head. 

He lets out a yelp and tries to grab it away from you, but you have the advantage as you stand up straight once more. Your free hand reaches up and tears off the cat ears you had donned, and in their place, the hat is deposited. 

It fits you a little big, and you nearly make a joke about the size of Eddie’s head. 

“Hey!” he argues, moving as though he might stand up and put up more of a fight, “I didn’t say the hat is what I wanted to take off.” 

“Took too long,” you shrug innocently. 

“Yeah, well, just carefully add it to the pile,” he jabs his thumb over his shoulder, towards his boots, as he relaxes back into his recline.

You should probably behave yourself. 

“No.”

But this is more fun. 

Eddie’s eyebrows shoot up in shot, disappearing behind the bangs that are flattened far more than usual. The entire crown of his head is absolutely crushed. No sign of his usual frizzy roots and unruly volume, “No?”

“No,” you confirm a second time. 

And you’re done with this game of back and forth. 

The hat’s staying on your head. It smells ever so faintly of his shampoo, the slightest whiff of his cologne even, and it’s staying on your head for the exact reason he believes is about to be a gotcha! moment.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he’s just tipsy enough that he’s not putting on any specific accent. Instead, his natural Appalachian accent inherited from his uncle begins to break the surface, “Surely you know about the hat rule.” 

Damn right, you know about the hat rule.

You cross your arms, huff a little, tilt the hat for effect, “The hat rule? Please, enlighten me.” 

“You wear the hat, you ride the cowboy.” 

Perfect. 

You don’t even attempt any sort of surprised act. No exaggerated gasps, no fumbling to remove the hat. You knew all about this rule, and it had been one of the first things to come to mind when you’d seen him enter this damn party with the hat on. 

“Yeah?” you question, mocking raising your eyebrows at best, “Hm. What a shame.”

And then you turn on your heel, not awaiting a single response from Eddie as you escape to the kitchen.

You almost wish you would have stayed an extra second to properly witness his reaction. There’s no doubt in your mind that he’s gone pretty and pink, a flustered mess for at least a second as low laughter sounds from the rest of your friends. A tell-tale snort from Robin, and a silent cackle from Nancy. You swear you even pick up on one of the extra guests muttering a confused what just happened? that goes entirely unanswered.

Strip poker doesn’t continue on for long after that.

You refill your drink, this time sans the alcohol, and return to find Steve has officially begun to call for cabs to the club. He busies away on his phone as everyone debates who’s riding with who, the entire party slowly coming to life as everyone stands to prepare to leave for the main attraction. 

When you meet Eddie’s gaze from across the room, the shadow of the brim of his hat cutting into your vision a little, his cheeks match the cranberry juice in your cup. 

Good. 

—

The ride to the club is a blur, and all that really stands out to you is that Eddie makes sure he does not ride in the same cab as you.

Which is fine. Really. It doesn’t cause a single spark of panic in your chest. Not one. 

You’re definitely not working yourself up over the thought that your plan is crumbling right before your eyes, that you’ve gone too far and entirely misinterpreted everything Eddie has ever done during your entire friendship. You’re not mulling over every dirty joke, not dissecting every single line that felt like he was flirting with you and attempting to look at it with fresh eyes. No, the entire ride to the club, you are definitely not beating a dead horse dead. 

Maybe you should have set off to ride the dead horse and not the cowboy. Maybe, then, Eddie would have gotten into the fucking cab with you. 

Your anxieties only worsen once you get inside the club. Pulsing beneath your skin, right in rhythm with the music. Your entire group had each been handed a drink ticket on your way in, and you had noted the fact that the girls of the group were slipped extra tickets. 

Nancy had given all her tickets to Robin, and Steve had given his singular ticket to Stacy. 

“So,” Robin runs up to your side, Nancy not far behind, “Do we waste our drink tickets on shots or real drinks?” 

“Real drinks,” you immediately reply, eyes scanning the bouncing crowd for a certain head of curly hair, “Shots are… well, they can be cheap. We can just avoid the top-shelf shit.”

Was Eddie really going to ignore you the entire night? 

He needed his hat. He couldn’t ignore you the entire night. 

“You’re right,” Robin shuffles the drink tickets in her hands, turning to Nancy, “On a scale of one to ten, how bad would it be me to ask you to flirt with men to get me-”

“Give me ten minutes and I’ll have us a round.” 

Nancy’s smile is sweet, courteous, as she gives Robin’s shoulder a squeeze on her way past her. 

Where the fuck is Eddie? 

“Did you see where the guys ran off to?” you blurt out. Most of the guys, aside from Steve, took the same cab. 

Robin also joins you in a quick survey of the club, lifting onto her tippy toes to squint over the current light show, “Honestly? I have no idea.” 

Fuck. 

As she drops back down onto her heels, Robin looks at you knowingly, eyes flicking up between your twisted expression and the hat on your head. 

“Trying to find a certain cowboy?” 

“What?” you look at her, already defensive, even if it was stupid at this point. Who cares if everyone knows you have a crush on Eddie? Who cares if everyone finds out the very foundations of your friendship with him were built upon quite a bit of truth? “I mean- yeah, he kind of needs his hat to complete his outfit.” 

“Should have just given him your ears for an even trade,” Robin shrugs, clinging to your elbow to avoid getting separated as a few bodies push past the two of you, “I’m sure he’ll pop up soon enough, though. Besides, I don’t think anyone’s too focused on what everyone’s costumes are as long as they’re… well…”

“Slutted out,” you finish for her flatly, trying to not get jealous as your eyes look across the sweaty crowd, stomach churning as you wonder how many other sexy black cats in the crowd would be approaching your cowboy. 

You fucked up. You shouldn’t have taken his hat. 

“Exactly!” she’s excited, unaware of your crisis, already moving along from the topic as she spots Nancy somewhere near the bar top, “Look, free shots!” 

The free shots don’t do much to quell your unease, but free alcohol is always nice.

You take the liquid down, burn and all, more than willingly. And then again, not even five minutes later when Nancy has caught the attention of another random man at the end of the bar. You almost partake in a third, but you finally hear a familiar voice saying a far too familiar joke. 

“You know what they say,” he’s flirting – he’s using a tone of voice that he has never used with you, and it’s clear he’s fucking flirting, “Save a horse, ride a cowboy.” 

Instead of continuing your drinking game from Steve’s apartment, you slam the shot back down and mutter some sorry excuse of being right back to Robin and Nancy before taking off in the direction of Eddie.

He’s stood a few stools down at the bar, hands leaning against the worn wood as his arms bracket a pretty blonde. It almost looks as if the line might be working on her. 

“If you’re a cowboy,” she giggles, and you almost stop dead in your tracks, “Then where’s your hat?” 

Well, that’s as good of a queue for your arrival if any. 

“Good question,” you pipe up as you take a few brave steps towards him, “Where is your hat, cowboy?” 

You’d expected him to be angry, or startled, or possibly even immediately take off running in the opposite direction of you. He doesn’t. 

He slowly turns, and his flirtatious smile has turned into more of a salacious grin as he faces you, “Well, well, well. Nice of you to join us, Kitty.” 

The blonde looks between you two a few times before shimmying down off her stool, “I think…. I’m gonna go. Nice to meet you, cowboy.”

You expect Eddie to react, but he hardly does. A quick glance in her direction, a pathetic wave. 

You’ve just trampled over one of his chances of getting properly lucky tonight, and he isn’t even phased. 

“Been lookin’ for you,” you mumble, looking over him. His hair seems to have been unstuck from his scalp a little, at least. As though he may have been running his hands through it repeatedly, “Thought you might have gone home without your hat.” 

“Not a chance. I haven’t forgotten about the rule, you know.” 

Something twists in you, deep in your gut, between your hips. 

“No?” you hold your breath as he leans in a bit closer to you to be able to hear over the music, “Good thing I haven’t either.” 

He tilts his head, eyes glittering in the multi-colored lights, “You haven’t? Then that means you’ll be giving it back, right?” 

Over my dead body. 

You’re on a mission tonight. You’ll either be ending this night in sore disappointment, drinking away your sorrows of rejection, or you’ll be ending up in a bed with Eddie. It’s up to him. 

You lift a hand to the worn rim, tugging it a bit more securely onto your head, “Not a chance, Munson. You know where to find me once you’re done playing around.”

As soon as your fingers leave the rim, holding tense eye contact with him, his own hand is coming up. You tense, worried he’s about to steal the hat back now, but he doesn’t. Instead, his fingers pinch the same spot yours just had, slow tracing over the rim as his tongue darts out to carefully wet his bottom lip. 

From the front point, around to the side. When he reaches the bit above your ear, his touch drops to your cheek and tucks back some of the baby hairs sticking to your skin with sweat. 

“I do, don’t I?” he hums, voice dropping a bit lower, focused entirely on you. “I don’t think I’m the one playing around right now, though, Kitty.” 

Does he think you’re joking? Does he actually, genuinely think this is all a game to you? 

You nearly make the decision to grab him right there, right at this moment, and shatter all the tension. Get his lips on yours and drag him into the darkest corner just to prove to him how serious you truly were. 

Suddenly, his hand drops away from you entirely, and you almost want to whine. You miss that warmth, that feathery caress, until it aches. “It’s okay, though. Always knew cats were playful things.” 

Is there a dark corner somewhere near you two? Is there a dark hallway to drag him into? Just enough shadow to cover all the sins you’re desperate to commit, just enough light to see that blush rise across his cheeks again. 

“I’m not playing,” you whisper, eyes drifting down to his hand cradling a glass. Something deep and russet, just like his eyes. Likely whiskey. You wonder if you’d be able to taste it all over his tongue before you had him putting it to work where you need him most right now. “Whenever you get that through your big head, come find me.” 

“Big head?” he throws his head back in a laugh, and the tension mists away in seconds. “Who says I have a big head?” 

“I do, as the one wearing your hat,” you readjust it for emphasis. 

You thought the tension had misted away until he’s smirking, tsking a little, “Oh, thought you meant the other one.” 

It’s a replay of the scene in Steve’s apartment, but this time, the roles are reversed. You’re the one left in shock, mouth agape, as Eddie spins around and walks away, leaving you to sit with what he’s just said. 

“Bastard,” you breathe out as you watch him disappear in the crowd, eyes locked on his broad shoulders until one too many bodies separate the two of you. 

A bastard you want awfully, terribly, bad. 

—

You wish you could say you threw back drink, after drink, after drink. You wish you could say you danced with a hundred different beautiful strangers, and each one strayed your mind farther from Eddie. 

You wish you could say you did anything but what the reality of your night had been.

A few men had approached you, only to be turned down repeatedly. Most of your night was spent all but moping at the bar, eyes diligently scanning the bouncing crowd for a certain curly haired figure that seemed to escape you. One moment, you’d catch him pressed against a flirty stranger, hands holding onto whatever bare skin was available to him. And then, his eyes would find yours, and there would be a spark; a wink, a smile, a whisper across a bustling room daring you to come out and play with him. 

You never did. You’d look away, take a sip of your plain coke, and wait a few seconds until it was safe to look back and find him seemingly vanished. 

That in itself had started to become a game. Just like the hat, weighing heavy on your head. 

You’re starting to accept that maybe you had just been a bit too brave. You’d jumped the gun, flown feet first into cold and ragged waters you weren’t prepared to navigate. You knew you wanted a change with Eddie, but were you ready? If you had been, you would have accepted one of his various invites. Would have strode across the room, shoved away whatever man or woman he was dancing with, and slotted yourself into their place. You would have been swaying your hips in rhythm with his rather than allowing him to cycle through strangers, and you’d be reminding him that you wore his hat. 

You’d be the one bringing up the hat rule to him consistently, not him to you. 

When the night begins to wane, you’ve already talked yourself out of it all. 

“I’m heading out,” you announce to Robin when she finally returns back to where you’ve sat at the bar to babysit their drinks, hopping down from the stool before she could argue, “I’m getting way too tired.” 

“What?” your friend gasps, face pink from the heat of being in the crowd, a shimmering sheen of sweat across her forehead, “No! Stay! We can take turns watching the drinks, or just-”

“Robs,” you smile as sweetly as possible, patting yourself down to make sure you have all your belongings. A whistle sounds from a group down the way at the bar, and you ignore them, “It’s seriously okay. You’re having fun! I’m just a senior citizen who needs some sleep. My bedtime was like…. An hour ago.” 

You highly doubt you’ll be getting any rest when you return to your apartment. Maybe some confidence can be built out of fantasies, letting your hands wander and sheets catch fire with all that could have been if you hadn’t talked yourself out of your perfect plan. 

Maybe, imagining Eddie’s hot hands on you rather than getting to properly feel them will light a damn fire under your ass for the next opportunity that arises. 

“I…” she sighs, glancing over her shoulder in the general direction of Nancy, “Okay, fine. But do we want to do brunch or something tomorrow?” 

Not a chance, you think rather quickly, eyes scanning once more for the metal-head-turned-cowboy. Not if Eddie’s going to be there.

“Sure,” you lie, already knowing he will be there, “Just text me.” 

With that, you make your grand escape. 

Borrowed hat on head, phone in hand, you push your way out of the club with a newfound determination. You want to get home and take off this uncomfortable dress, finally do away with the thigh highs that have been rolling down at the most inconvenient of times, driving you insane the entire night. Trade the sexy attire for something comfy – stay true to the cat essence as you curl up beneath your blankets for the night. Hang that damn cowboy hat on your door as a cursed reminder-

“Where do you think you’re going, Kitty?” 

You stop a few feet short of the curb, a cab ordered as you turn to find that bastard leaning against the wall. Cigarette smoke is still clinging to the air around him as he looks at you curiously. 

“Home,” you shrug, trying to ignore your pounding heart. You’d figured you wouldn’t see him again tonight, that your fate had been sealed. “What are you doing out here?” 

“Smoke break,” he lifts his hand with the cigarette pinched between two fingers casually, pushing off the wall to come closer, “It’s hard work, keeping you entertained all night.” 

You scoff, falling back into what’s almost a normal rhythm for you two, “You were not the one keeping me entertained all night.” 

“I hardly saw you dance with anyone at all.” 

“I did!” you try to defend yourself, deciding this could be fine. Some casual conversation as you wait for your ride, a way to pass the time. This is fine. “Robin dragged me out into the crowd at least twice.” 

“I watched you swat a guy’s hands away not once, but three times.” 

“Unsolicited touching isn’t a compliment. He should have taken the hint the first time.” 

Eddie nods in eager agreement, taking another drag of his cigarette, “Damn right. If he had gone in for a fourth try, I was considering dragging him out here for an early smoke break.” 

“Why do I highly doubt it would just be a smoke break?” you question, glancing at him with a smile. Scandalous plans aside for the night, embarrassment swallowed down whole, it’s nice to remember that Eddie is a friend. Albeit a bit flirty, and capable of driving you fucking insane, but he’s a friend.

And maybe that isn’t the worst thing in the world. 

“Oh, no, yeah. You’d be posting my bail.”

“Why me?”

“Because you’ve got my hat, ” he reaches out and flicks the brim with his free hand, and you freeze up a little. You had hoped he wouldn’t mention it again, “Kind of makes me your problem until the end of the night. Speaking of….” 

You already know what he’s about to request as he trails off. This is it. You either give up the bit, hand the hat back over, and go home for the night – or you make one final attempt to get what you had wanted.

Eddie. You wanted Eddie, as more than a friend. 

“I’m gonna need that back, sweetheart.”

At least he’s asking politely, you consider, before it hits you why he’s asking rather than taking. 

The looks across the room. The way he’d been unbothered by the girl he’d been flirting with running off at your appearance. The way he never just took back that fucking hat when he’d been provided ample opportunity. 

He thinks it’s a game for you, and keeps bringing it up, because it isn’t for him. He’s giving you one last chance to back out, or to stand your ground. To say you really want this. 

And fuck, you really want this. 

“Nope,” you lean into his space, pressing closer, fully committed. Your phone dings with the notification of your ride approaching, and you fully ignore it. “My hat now, cowboy.” 

He quirks an eyebrow, and you hear the crunch of gravel behind you. Your ride. “Is that so?” 

“Yep.”

Another ding, another buzz of your phone.

Go ahead. Bring up the hat rule. 

“That your ride?” he asks, tilting his chin in the direction of the car. 

You glance over your shoulder, “Pretty sure it is, yeah.” 

“And you remember the hat rule?” 

Your stomach twists with excitement. Your previous pity party is long forgotten – you’re still hoping to get out of this dress, but you highly doubt you’ll be slipping anything on after it. “I do.”

“Great,” those hot hands you’d been fantasizing about the entire night suddenly reach out to you, gripping your hips tightly as he tugs you into his body. You collide with his chest as he leans down and whispers in your ear, “In that case, that’s my pussy now.” 

His lips linger against the shell of your ear an extra second, warm breath sending chills up your spine before he’s keeping an arm around your shoulders as he guides you to the car. His cologne and the scent of tobacco is suffocating, and you crave to drown in it. You want him to consume you; you want him to take over every breath you breathe, every move you make, to finally get those hot hands and lips everywhere you’ve only dreamt of. 

You barely hear him confirm with the driver that it is in fact your ride – you can only focus on that hand on your lower back, palm heavy on you as his thumb traces arcs that nearly spend you spiraling. 

“After you, kitty,” he murmurs, motioning for you to slide into the backseat first. 

In that case, that’s my pussy now.

You hope he ruins you. 

In the backseat of the ride, it’s all polite distance and hands to yourself. You can’t even make eye contact with the driver, terrified he might be able to mindread and see all the filthy thoughts racing through your head. 

Eddie between your thighs, mouthing at your hips. 

Eddie hovering over you, pulling your knees to your chest as he stretches you out. 

Eddie, proving that your pussy is in fact his for the night. That it was made for him, sculpted out to fit the curvature and every single vein of him. 

Eddie simply fucking your brains out. 

Some polite conversation is exchanged, mostly between Eddie and the driver. The classic questioning of how the night has gone, small talk that buzzes in your ears mindlessly. 

The entire time, you can see Eddie’s hand in the space between you two, fingers tapping away at dark leather incessantly. His rings shimmer like a siren calling to you. 

It’s a small movement, when your own hand drops near his. You keep your eyes trained forward once you begin your mission, inching your pinky closer and closer until it finally collides with his. You swear, you feel him fully jump out of his seat. 

Slowly warming the water, you start off simple – playing with his fingers. Gentle caresses over his knuckles, little pricks to the pads of his fingers. He tries to capture your hand in his, but you have bigger plans at play here. 

You’ve spent the entire fucking night waiting for this. You’re going to have fun with it. 

He huffs after you deter his second attempt at properly holding hands, his knees falling apart a little further. You twist at the ring on his middle finger, a clunky skull you’ve always admired. It has minimal signs of wear, probably pure silver if you had to guess, and you can only imagine how cold it’s going to feel against your skin. 

You can only imagine the imprints it’ll leave if he grabs your hips just right. 

“You know,” the driver hums mindlessly over the low volume of the radio, “You guys are my first ride of the night, surprisingly. Thought it might be busier with all the parties and clubs, but I think it’s just barely picking up now.”

“Yeah?” Eddie asks politely, nodding as he looks out his window. Perfect, “I think you’re right. It is getting pretty late-”

He’s entirely distracted, your hand out of his line of sight as it moves in on its target. 

His thigh. 

Just a few inches above his knee, your hand grips at what is clearly sensitive flesh. You watch his entire body turn to stone when you do it, and he moves his head quickly to look in your direction. 

You’re looking straight ahead. 

There had been a time, a few weeks ago, where you’d learned Eddie had… sensitive knees. You’d been joking around about one thing or another, and when your palms had gripped at them through the torn fabric of ripped jeans, he’d nearly launched himself across the room. He just kept insisting they were ticklish, that that skin was just delicate.

You’d seen the tent in his jeans then. You’d just been a bit more polite, a bit better behaved that day. 

“What are you doing?” he hisses in a whisper, reaching for your hand, but you’re quick to slide it even higher. 

His hips jump a little, and the driver is none the wiser. 

“Nothing,” you innocently say, still looking ahead, watching the passing streetlights with intense interest. “Absolutely nothing at all.” 

The entire ride, at every red light, your hand inches higher. 

And every time, you relish the way he squirms in your peripherals.

By the time you’re five minutes out from your place, you’ve riled him up to impossible heights. Every little noise has him on edge, constant twitching and shifting in his seat as he tries to get you to just look at him. You know he’s catching every sly smile that attempts to creep up on your lips – you’re pathetically failing at every turn to cover them up. 

You think you have him like putty in your palms as you give yet another squeeze to his thigh, fingers starting to dance up even higher. When your eyes flicker to his crotch for just a second, you see him straining against that tight leather. 

And then he flips the script. 

You’re so focused on your own goals, you never see that ringed hand creep to your own thigh. It’s not until cool metal nips at you, briefly, before you feel the warmth of his hand overtake, that you realize the predicament you’ve gotten into. 

Just as your hand was beginning to skim over his crotch, Eddie’s hand found solace between the meat of your thighs. Even as you try to clench them together, deny him the access he was seeking out, he finds his way in. Scandalous fingers dipping under the hem of your dress, fighting fire with fire when he lets his middle finger brush across the fabric of your underwear. 

Your touch from him nearly retracts entirely. 

“What?” he leans in closer to you, the driver still focused on the road, “Don’t like a taste of your own medicine?”

As he says it, his fingers dip lower. Hovering right over your protected clit, making your entire abdomen clench. 

You swallow hard, a bit of your jagged pride somewhere amongst the spit as you turn your head to look at him, “I don’t know what you mean.” 

“Still playing games I see.” 

In sync, the two of you lock eyes as you continue to test waters. You apply pressure with your palm and note the way his breathing hitches, and he draws a feather-light circle around the wet patch forming in your underwear. You can feel your bottom lip quiver as you try to refuse to give him any satisfaction, but when he’s this close, it’s a hopeless battle.

When had he gotten so near you? What happened to all that static distance from when you’d first crawled into the backseat?

You’re trying to only focus on your own hand. Eyes darting to guarantee the driver is still oblivious as you roll the heel of your hand harder against the seam of his pants, and biting your lip to hold back a successful grin when he has to cover a gasp with a cough. It’s all fun and games until the action is rewarded with his payback; his knuckle curling up against your cunt through your panties, pressing in hard before slowly sliding his way up, up, up. 

He deliberately stops when he catches on your clit, and you’re the one coughing now. 

“Had enough?” he mutters under his breath, looking at you with half-lidded eyes. He looks good in this lighting, flashes of the streetlights bathing him in soft yellow, headlights of other cars fluttering in through the windshield as they hit his brown eyes just right to bronze them. 

“Never.”

You almost think you’ve won when his knuckle pulls back. 

But suddenly, his entire hand is cupping your cunt, two fingers pressing against your fluttering hole as another drags up your slit slowly once more. This time, when he reaches your clit, he continues moving in small circles. 

You have to bite your lip to hold back any noises, eyes closing for just a second as you hear him huff out a laugh. 

The final damnation is when he brings his lips to your bare shoulder, merely grazing your skin with them as he mumbles, “You sure about that, Kitty?” 

You clench around nothing, and you know when he feels it from where his fingers remain pressed against you. His own hand twitches as the finger circling your clit stutters for a moment. 

“I-”

“We’re here!” the driver says, not having looked into the backseat yet as he finds a safe place to pull the car into. In an instant, you and Eddie remove your hands from each other. You’re both visibly flustered – you can feel how warm your cheeks have gotten, and you can see clouds of pink splattering over Eddie’s chest and neck. 

“Thanks,” Eddie is the one to speak up as the car comes to a halt, not even waiting for the driver to put the vehicle in park as he throws the door open. 

A bit rushed, but still polite as ever before he’s grabbing you by your bicep to pull you out of the cramped space right along with him. 

You can hardly muster a weak wave to the man as Eddie is dragging you towards your apartment building, knees still a bit weak and mind still blank after getting a taste of your own medicine, as Eddie had put it. 

He doesn’t let go of you until you’re at your front door, those cursed shaking hands of yours fumbling with your key ring. 

“Here, let me-” he starts to offer, reaching for the keys that continue to clank together, just as you find the one you’re looking for. 

“I’ve got it-” you try to cut him off, just as you drop the fucking keys in your haste. “Shit.” 

You quickly drop to the ground to grab them, pausing once you have the metal digging into your palms once more. There’s no real reason for you to do it, but you do – you take a second to look up at Eddie from this position, and nearly drool at the sight of it.

Him, standing over you, still a bit flushed and still visibly uncomfortable in his pants. Pretty curls a mess and lips darkening from how much he’s been biting them. 

You want him to ruin you. You want him to absolutely, entirely and utterly destroy you.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he laughs, chest heaving a bit as he watches you carefully, pupils slowly growing in the dim light of your building’s hallway. 

You can see his bare torso clenching, the twitch of his hands at his sides – the same fingers that had just been caressing you over your underwear in the backseat of a stranger’s car. 

“Like what?” you’re dragging out the moment, taking time to appreciate the sight of him. 

“Like you want me to just press you up against the wall and fuck you out here, for everyone to see.” 

That’s a new one. That’s a vision that hadn’t come to you in all your dirtiest dreams of the night. 

It sends your clit throbbing. 

You rise slowly, pushing the hat back a bit to see him better, keeping your voice quiet so your neighbors won’t hear as you ask, “Would you? If I asked nicely?” 

He doesn’t let out a laugh, but a breath of air, like you’ve just sucked all of the oxygen out of his lungs. 

No need to say it – you know he would. You probably wouldn’t even have to ask nicely. 

You’re staring at him when he finally moves, one hand snatching your keys out of your hand and the other gripping you around the waist. Back to pulling you, man-handling you to get you right where he wants you – where he needs you. 

One second, you’re pressed against his body in the hallway. The next, he’s managed to unlock your front door and throw you both into the safety of your apartment. 

Hidden from the world, and you’re still reeling as you wonder what it’d be like for the entire building to witness you calling out his name. Or him calling out your name. 

Here within these four walls, Eddie has put some space between the two of you, staring with blown out eyes and a shaking chest as he breathes out, “Sweetheart.”

A few seconds pass, the two of you just standing there, the click of the front door’s lock being the only thing echoing in the silence. If you focused over the roar of the blood pounding in your ears, you might catch every single gasp of his as he stares in awe – but your focus is elsewhere. Far away and out of grasp for the time being. You can only think of one thing, and one thing only. 

Your body isn’t your own as you move to get exactly what you want; you drop to your knees hard enough that you should cringe at the thought of the pain that will linger, possibly for days, but it doesn’t even cross your mind as your hands begin to fumble with Eddie’s pants. The oversized, gaudy belt buckle is in your way, glinting at you as if mocking the way your shaking hands can’t undo it fast enough. You’re about to give up and just start unzipping the leather pants, desperate to get your hands, and your mouth, and your eyes on him properly, when he stops you. 

“Hey,” he sounds breathless - he is breathless - as his own hands quiver a bit and grab onto yours, “Hey, hey, hey. Slow down.”

Those hands let go of your wrists and reach for the hat, and you’re quick to try and swat them away only for him to grab at you, surprisingly gentle, as he drags you back up to your feet. 

“Wear the hat, ride the cowboy – right?” you insist, chin held high, your gaze refusing to waver from his. 

His slow and buttery grin makes you lightheaded, his low chuckle sends shakes through every nerve and bone. “That’s right, but maybe the cowboy wants to take his time. Ever think of that, hm?” 

Were you moving too fast? Were you going to scare him off? 

Small, baby steps are taken by Eddie, the click of his heels shattering against your wooden floors until his hips are flush with yours. 

And - oh.

Oh. 

That surely didn’t feel like you were scaring him off. 

You could feel the outline of his cock, hard against your hip, as he gives a little roll. He catches his bottom lip between his teeth, nostrils flaring with a hard breath, and the fear leaves as quickly as it had arrived. 

He wants this. You want him. 

“I’m not a very patient person,” you murmur, eyes glued to his lips now as his head leans in closer, and his hands begin to explore your body. Taking their time as they travel down your arms from where he’d held onto your biceps, slowing as they reach your wrists. Even the press of his thumb against the sensitive inner skin there sends jolts up your spine, little gasps attempting to escape your mouth. 

His fingers tangle loosely with your own for a few moments before his palms find your hips, and he continues his journey. 

“That’s okay,” he whispers back, close enough now that his lips have begun to brush against your own. His nose bumps yours as his hands skate up over your ribcage, thumb sweeping out over the hill of your breast and intentionally avoiding your nipple, “I can teach you, baby.”

Your mouth finally collides with him at the words, nearly going limp in his arms at the words. 

You’ve thought about kissing Eddie for a while now. Every time a snarky remark fell from his lips, you’d wonder how his tongue might taste afterwards. Every time he’d pout his lips at one of your comebacks, or blow a kiss teasingly in your direction from across a room, you’d wonder how hard you might have to bite down to make him bleed. Every drag of a cigarette you’d witnessed, every hard gasp in faux offense, every breathless chuckle at a joke he didn’t want to find funny but did – you had spent a lot of time wondering what it might be like to steal all the air from his lungs, to kiss him until the two of you were both blue in the face. 

“Can’t the lesson wait until tomorrow?” you mumble against him as his mouth, your own fists now gripping onto the lapels of his vest. His hands have reached your shoulders, memorizing the outlines of the curve of your neck where it meets your collarbones, the slope of your chest as you take hot and heavy breaths. 

“Nope,” he insists, pulling back from the kiss, a little bit of spit on his pink lips, “But it’s nice to know you’re thinking about tomorrow.” 

A hand finally finds your chin and pinches it carefully between his thumb and fingers, a careful grip on you to angle you just right so he can all but devour you. Lips, tongues, teeth – it’s a messy ordeal, and you almost make a smart-ass remark that this kiss doesn’t feel very patient. 

But you can’t. Eddie’s taken away all your breaths, all your words, as he starts to guide you backwards. 

Your knees hit the cushions of your sofa, making you jump back from him with a gasp, palms going flat against his chest. 

He feels good. Tender skin soft to the touch beneath your hand, tattoos tempting to trace the outline of. Later. 

“Figured you might want a more comfortable ride,” he laughs against you, breath smelling ever so faintly of mint and whiskey washing over you, before he dips to mouth away at your neck.

You drop back onto the sofa, bite your tongue on a comment about how this cheap piece of furniture most definitely wasn’t the most comfortable option, simply eager at the fact he was letting this move along. 

You want him, you need him, and you have no time for patience. 

His exploration of touches have lit you aflame, and you’re growing a bit desperate at this point. It might be pathetic, it should be embarrassing, but you really don’t care. 

“By all means,” you break out of his hold entirely, catching the way his hand holding your chin lingers a few extra seconds, reluctant to let you go, “Take your seat, Cowboy.” 

He joins you on the couch, eyes never leaving yours even as he throws himself down. Knees spread wide, inviting lap on show, cock still straining against his pants. 

The best seat in the house, as far as you’re concerned. 

“You just gonna keep starin’,” he mocks lightly, looking you over slowly. Taking his time, you suppose, “Or you gonna get over here?” 

His words are all you need. You’re quick to climb onto his lap, swinging your legs so that each thigh brackets his hips, your cunt pressing down on crotch carelessly. You love the way it feels – the outline of him hard against you, the cooling effect of the leather, the sharp edges of the zipper catching just right. 

“There,” he huffs out, grabbing onto you when you give the slightest roll of your hips, “Now we’re both in our seats.” 

When you go to press down harder, guiding yourself over his lap, hands steadying you by gripping his shoulders, he surprises you by his hips jumping up to meet your slow rhythm.

“What happened to being patient?” you try to tease him right back as your forehead meets his, hat comically struggling to stay on between the two of you, “Thought you were gonna take your time with me-”

“Between you and me, I’m not gonna last,” he pants out, hands finding your hips. Those rings you’d been fantasizing of leaving an imprint on you are doing just that as he guides you, “Been dreaming of you too long, sweetheart. Wanted this for so long.” 

Your heart nearly stops. Your hips stutter, pausing as his words rush over you. 

“What?” 

Your head lifts away from his completely, grip on his shoulders tightening. 

He’s wanted this, too? This entire time? 

Eddie takes your pause as a bad thing, a terrible omen as his face pales, “I mean- I just-”

“Munson,” you say lowly, narrowing your eyes at him, “You’re telling me, this entire time, you’ve been flirting with me?” 

Had that tone he used with the girl at the bar been flirting as you’d thought, or simple for show? You’d so cluelessly assumed he’d never used that tone with you because he’d never genuinely flirted with you – and yet, it seems, he’d never used that tone because he’d been genuinely flirting with you. 

“I-” his cheeks are brilliant red, and the wide eyes are from something different than lust now, “Maybe?” 

“Maybe?” you almost laugh, throwing your head back. The hat falls off, but Eddie is quick to retrieve it, “My God, we’re fucking idiots.” 

“Hey, I’m not the one who stole my hat-”

“I like you, dumb ass,” you state plainly, “I wanted this for a while, too.” 

He pauses, one arm outstretched as his hand grips onto the hat, “What?” 

“Been thinking about this, too,” your voice drops a little, almost a whisper, even though you two are the only ones in the room. For all you know, you two might be the only two people left in the world with the way he’s looking at you, “Thinking about you and your lips. Thinking ‘bout your hands and the places they’d go,” as you point out every detail, his body seemingly reacts. A lick of his lips, a squeeze of his hand still on your hip, “Thought about your fingers and tongue a lot, too. How good they’d feel inside me.” 

His hips thrust up at that, and suddenly, he’s placing his hat back atop your head. 

That, it seems, was all the encouragement Eddie needed. 

He deals with that belt buckle that had given you hell, bouncing you a bit on his lap as he fumbles with yanking the entire belt off and tossing it to the side. One hand busies with undoing the button and zipper of his jeans, as the other starts to bunch your dress. 

“Nice and slow,” he insists, looking up at you, absolutely vibrant. Somewhere between the tightness between your hips, all the throbbing between your thighs and in your chest, you feel a sort of bubbly delight creeping up along your spine. “Got it, kitty?” 

You nod once. Twice. On the third nod, he cuts you off with a kiss. 

Your dress is up to your waist, and you don’t know how, but he manages to shimmy off his pants without throwing you off his lap entirely. It’s impressive, really. Probably a symptom of him having thought about this, dreamt about this. He’d probably thought up every scenario possible, and was prepared. 

“Oh, and these?” his fingers find the waistband of your panties, tsking a little as he pulls at the elastic and lets it slap back against your skin, “Those definitely have to come off.” 

“Whatever you say, cowboy.” 

You take your time sliding off his lap, making sure to grind against him before you properly lift away. He throws his head back in a groan, Adam’s apple bobbing as you stand up straight. You take that moment to just admire him, capturing the clench of his jaw to memory, the way his eyes screw shut in pleasure at your influence. 

He’s fucking perfect. You’re sure there’s others who disagree, but you’d pay them no mind. He’s perfect, and he’s all yours. 

You make a show of taking off your panties only once he’s properly looking at you once more, craving his eyes on you as you keep all your movements fluid and steady. No rush, exuding all that patience he’d prattled on about. 

You want to see his face when you gently toss the black lacey piece in his direction, watch him fumble with his own desperation to catch them. 

“Seems a bit unfair that I’m the only one undressing,” you hum as you go a step further and begin to shimmy out of the dress.

“Yeah, well,” he grins cheekily at you, fisting your panties, a hand trailing down to the waistband of his boxers as he eyes you, “One of us was showing a bit more skin than the other.”

“Take off the vest, Eddie.” 

Your command is velvet, and he’s quick to obey. His hand stubbornly refuses to let go of your panties as he rushes to shrug out of the thin fabric over his shoulders, tossing the vest to join his pants and your dress on the floor. 

“And the boxers.” 

You stand there, in nothing but his cowboy hat, as you wait pretty and patient for him to listen. And listen he does. 

The moment his boxers are discarded, his cock is standing at attention, leaking from the tip and deep shade of pink that matches his kiss-bitten lips. You think it might be the prettiest color you’ve ever laid eyes on as you watch a drop of  precum slip down his shaft. 

He’s pretty, even in the fucking pants. 

Girthy, thick enough you almost arch your back before you’ve even sunk down on him. All veins and soft skin, a sensitive tip that you’d trace your tongue over for hours if he let you. 

“Gonna just stand there, or are you going to ride your cowboy?” 

He surely meant to sound more cocky, but the words come out as more of a whine as you watch him twitch under your stare. 

He’s right though, and you’d rather get him inside you than spend another second gawking. There will be time to pay more attention to him and his pretty cock tomorrow. Right now, you need to finish this god-forsaken mission. 

Your thighs find his hips just as his hands find yours, choosing to grip the couch rather than his shoulders as you steady yourself. 

Nice and slow, his words echo in your mind. 

You could have prepared yourself more, but you’d already made it clear to Eddie that you are not a patient person. The fact that you even take your time as you sink down on him, going as far as to grab him by his base and guide his tip to smear precum across your clit, is impressive. 

The stretch is a bit painful. A bit much. A bit dizzying. But you refuse to stop as your jaw drops, eyes fluttering shut in ecstasy. 

“Fuck,” you breathe out softly as you feel him fill you, “Fuck, Eddie.” 

“Feel good, baby?” he questions, reaching up to grab your chin just as he had before. Forcing you closer to him, forcing you to look him in the eyes just as he bottoms out. 

You don’t answer him as you both moan out. 

You stay there for a second, unmoving as you swim in the feeling. Feeling him press into the depths of you, the overwhelming warmth and the coil in your abdomen tightening ever so slightly. 

It’s better than you had imagined it. No daydreams could compare to the feeling of Eddie’s cock finally, finally filling you. Stretching you out, making you his. 

“Go ahead,” he grits out, entire body tense, clearly holding out on you, “Ride your cowboy, kitty. Don’t make me ask twice.” 

Nice. And. Slow.

Three little words that ricochet through your mind as you start to slowly bounce on him. Lifting ever so slightly, dropping back down, aching to feel him even deeper inside of you. Feeling the quiver of his thighs to match yours as you repeat the action, gasps and whimpers falling from both your lips. You’re about to try and kiss him, try and swallow all those delicate noises from him, when he stops you. 

“No, no, no,” he’s chuckling, giving your hips a few squeezes before his palms rub down your thighs, the friction sending you on edge, “C’mon, now. We both know that’s not how you ride.” 

His hands rake over your skin, down to your knees, lighting scratching and squeezing along their entire pathway until they make their way back up to your waist and hips. 

“Do it like this, sweetheart.”

He guides you, no longer allowing you to lift up. You sink all the way down on his cock, whining out at the fullness, before he starts the pattern. 

Back and forth. Gentle circles amidst the rocking. Your clit grazes his pubes, and the coil in between your hips has never tightened more quickly. 

The motion feels familiar - like riding a bull. 

This feels right. You still press down, still clench down on him hard enough to make you both slip out obscenities, but it’s getting you there. 

At some point, Eddie’s grip on your hips slips, but it’s fine – you’ve got the rhythm down perfectly. Slow, intermittent figure eights between the rolls of your hips, his occasionally slamming upward to reward you with that deepness you need. You can feel him in your stomach, in your chest, in your throat. 

You get a bit daring, and take one hand to his shoulders, as the other reaches up for the top of the hat on your head. 

Just like a cowboy. 

“Like this?” you pant out between harsher rolls, eliciting curses that continue to grow louder from Eddie. 

“Fuck, baby, yes,” he groans out, head thrown back, mouth open in gratification, “Just like that. Keep- keep going just,” he thrusts up, “Like,” another thrust, “That.” 

You nearly lose balance, falling forward a bit, too stubborn to let go of the hat. There’s a grin glimmering at the corners of your mouth, and it fully blooms when Eddie throws up a hand to catch you .

A hand on your throat. 

He doesn’t squeeze, doesn’t cut off blood flow or breathing. He keeps that warm palm there at the base of your neck, cradling you, holding you. A reminder that he could squeeze if he wanted, that he held you in the palm of his hands currently, but he won’t. 

“You like that?” his eyes shine as he looks up at you, the sight of his rings decorating your neck. 

You nod.

“Tell me with your words,” he commands.

“I like it,” you whimper, looking up further, stretching more of your neck to be vulnerable to Eddie. “I like it so much, baby.” 

When the pet name falls from your lips, you can feel him twitch inside of you. The sudden jut of his hips, the sharp intake of breath. 

“You like that,” you laugh breathlessly, your hand atop the hat the only thing keeping it from falling as you lean your head fully back, eyes beginning to roll back into your head. “Wanna be my baby, Munson?” 

“Always have,” he grunts, the hand on your throat slipping up to cup your face to drag you towards him, “Since the fucking moment I met you, sweetheart.”

When he kisses you, it tastes like the closest to Heaven you might ever get. Soft, plump lips, and an eager tongue. All the wasted time hiding behind jokes and teasing, playing pretend like the flirting was never serious.

It was serious. And if you’d just come clean sooner, you would have had this long ago. 

Your hips are still rolling as your hands begin to roam. You’ve found your balance again, lips pressed to Eddie, and it’s your turn to explore all he has to give you. Your nails graze his stomach when your clit catches once more on that rough thatch of hair against the base of his cock. Your fingers dig into flesh wherever they can find it – his chest, his arms, his hips. At some point, you throw a hand out behind you, grasping for his knee. Learning every curve and every point of his body as he had done for you. 

You wanna memorize the roadmap of him. Take a snapshot in your mind so that next time, none of it is unfamiliar territory. 

Your touch is driving him insane; it doesn’t take a genius to pick up on the way his hips falter to meet your movements, or how he keeps breaking the kiss to gasp, letting his jaw fall slack when he hits a particular deep spot within you. 

It’s when your lips finally trail down the stubble sprouting across his jawline, mouth sucking on the soft skin below his ear, that he’s finally a goner. 

“‘M close,” he gasps out, almost sounding drunk as he slurs through his pants, “Ah, fuck, I’m gonna-”

“Cum for me, Eddie.” 

Maybe it’s the way you had been touching him, or the way your cunt had been fluttering around him, or the persistent rolling of your hips that had become so focused on his pleasure. Maybe it was the sight of you in his hat, looking at him like that. Maybe it was the way his name sounded on your tongue. 

Either way, when Eddie Munson comes undone, he’s beautiful. 

Your own movements slow involuntarily as you gaze starry eyed, watching the way his face scrunches and feeling his grip on you tighten impossibly. Leaving their mark, making you his in yet another way. Warmth fills your cunt and every curse word under the summer sun is falling from his lips. 

Your name, curses, prayers, gratitude – a jumbled mess, and it sounds fucking fantastic when it’s said in Eddie’s desperate tone. 

“Shit,” he gasps out, finally coming back down to Earth, “Shit.”

You sit still on his lap, skin sticky with sweat, lips spread thin in a cheeky grin, “Sounds like I get to keep your hat, cowboy.” 

His eyes shoot open, and for a second, you’re terrified.

Those aren’t the eyes of someone satisfied. 

“You didn’t cum.”

“What?”

“You,” he says, stressing the word as he shifts you off his lap. You don’t miss the way he winces, clearly a bit sensitive, “Did not cum.” 

You hadn’t really noticed, too wrapped up in him to notice your high slipping away from you. You’d been too focused on Eddie: on feeling him cum inside you, on watching him break apart, on tracing the outline of the blood rushing to his cheeks with your eyes and that fresh burst of violet on his neck in the shape of your lips. 

“It’s fine,” you start to argue, feeling the warmth of him leaking down your thighs. You should be a lot more worried about making a mess all over your sofa. You should be, but you aren’t. “I can-”

“You’re not keeping that fucking hat until you cum for me, sweetheart.” 

And, oh, maybe your own orgasm wasn’t racing as far away from you as you’d believed, because those words nearly push you over the edge for him. 

“Get on all fours for me, baby.” 

Yeah. You definitely could still be close. For him.

When you don’t move to follow his command immediately, he’s using those gentle hands to guide you. Encouraging a twist of your hips from how you’re reclining back across the couch, letting you press your cheek down against the cushion.

You open your mouth to argue, to insist it was fine, to say anything, but you’re cut silent when a sudden slap lands on your ass. 

A silent command this time, and you’re finally listening. 

You lift your ass up for him on shaky knees, elbows digging into the cushion now instead of your face. The hat on your head is lopsided, and you almost reach up to fix it when- 

“I’ll be taking that,” For the first time since you’d stolen his hat, Eddie takes it back. Right off your head, too fast for you to protest. When you dig your chin into your shoulder to look back at him, he’s smiling, hat back in its rightful place atop his curls, “You can have it back after you cum for me, at least once.”

“At least once?” you mean to laugh, to sound cocky, but it comes out as more of a squeak. 

He shrugs, leaning forward, his bare chest pressing against the skin of your bare ass – right where an imprint of his hand still sings, “At least. By all means, if you feel the need, don’t hesitate to give me a few. God knows you’ve earned it.” 

You don’t have time to banter back; he retracts before bring his mouth down to your cunt, and your elbows quickly give out at the first long stride of his tongue. 

“Gotta get you cleaned up,” he murmurs, a bit muffled, against your cunt. 

Another stride, and this time, his tongue spends an extra second at your clit, circling it salaciously. 

“Oh, God,” you moan out into a mouthful of couch cushion, tempted to bite down to hide all the noises creeping up your throat when his tongue draws yet another circle, tip of his nose pressed to your sensitive hole.

He brings his tongue back to that space, that hole that feels gaping without him filling you now, and you try to bury your cheek only to earn another slap on the ass.

“Don’t be shy now, kitty. Let me hear you.” 

And let him hear you, you do. 

Each lick, short and timid or long and confident, is dredging up obscene mewls from you. When he enters you with it, curling it and pressing as deep as he can, truly cleaning you up as he had said, you’re chanting his name. 

“Fuck, Eddie,” you cry softly, rocking your body back against his mouth, “Your fingers. P-Please, use your fingers.” 

Your wish is his command as he brings his hand up between your legs, breaking from having his tongue buried inside of you and using a calloused pad of his finger to trace over your clit before he begs, “Say my name again.” 

You do. Over, and over, and over as his mouth and his fingers begin to work against you. Careful focus is placed on your clit, and his mouth runs amok between your cunt and thighs. You feel what will no doubt be hickies along the curve of your ass, nips of teeth against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh as he presses two fingers into you. With every thrust of his hand, your hips are rocking back to match his rhythm, wanting more. 

More, more, more. 

There’s nothing nice and slow about this. You’re chasing after a high, and Eddie is listening to you every step of the way. 

Your thighs begin to shake terribly right around the time your vision blurs, unable to contain the whines that have grown to echoing volumes. Surely, your neighbors can hear. Probably confused as to who Eddie is, probably considering how embarrassing it would be to knock down your door and complain about the noises. 

You really, really don’t give a fuck when white speckles flood your vision, even with your eyes screwed shut, and that tension between your hips threatens to snap. 

Right before your knees give out, your entire body trembling, Eddie pulls back and grabs your hips. You cry out, so close yet so far, until he’s flipping you back over. 

You get one glimpse of him before he goes to work to bring you over that edge – lips and chin slick with you, hair frizzing beneath his hat, a determined glint in his eyes that have your thighs clenching around his ears. 

You were right. Eddie Munson looks damn good between your thighs. 

He quickly returns to his mitigations, and this time, it’s all a bit more strategic. Lips suctioned around your clit and three fingers curling deep within you, a beckoning motion as he urges you to let go for him. 

The white returns behind your eyelids. Your back arches up off the sofa. Your ankles lock as they cross behind Eddie’s back, almost effectively trapping him in place.

You cum hard for him. 

You’re entirely unaware if you scream his name in the process, but you hope you do. As that relief, that ecstasy, floods your system, you hope you make sure everyone within a five mile radius knows who’s responsible. Your entire body continues to shake for far longer than you believe it ever has before. Your hips had lifted, begging for Eddie to keep going even as it all grew painful.

He does. He keeps going, sucking you dry for every drop you have to give him, until you’re physically having to shove him away. 

Your hands are weak as you sink down into the cushion, eyes still closed as you hear him chuckle before you feel him crawl his way back up your body. 

“There,” you don’t even need to see his face to see that smug satisfaction – his voice is dripping in it. “Now you can keep the hat.” 

One of your hands blindly throws itself through the air to smack him, missing entirely as you drift through the afterglow of it all. 

“I’m not sure I’ve earned it,” you mumble as he catches your wrist, limp in the air, “Pretty sure I didn’t break you when I made you cum.”

“Oh, you did,” he notes, hand curling around your wrist. You watch as he slowly brings it to his lips, peppering a few chaste kisses on the soft skin, “Just in a different way.” 

You raise your eyebrows, smiling at the tingling feeling left behind on your skin in the wake of his mouth, “Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” 

He tugs you to sit up despite your groan of protest, somehow smoothly maneuvering the two of you so that he’s now the one beneath you, letting the full weight of you bear down on his chest as you lay on top of him. The hand wrapped around your wrist brings it back up for more kisses, more repetitive gentle pecks of affection, as his other arm is quick to wrap around you. Holding you in place, as though he’s scared you might disappear. 

“Well,” you whisper against the bare skin of his chest, nearly shivering when his free hand starts to trail slowly up and down your spine, “Good.” 

Your cheek feels the vibrations of his chuckle, “That’s all you have to say?” 

“Give me a few minutes to recover,” you insist, all but nuzzling into him, “I’m sure I’ll have a smartass comeback for you once I’m…” you trail off, heavy eyes looking up at him, the words lost on your tongue and in the air. 

The gentle curve of his cupid’s bow. The roundness at the end of his nose, still a fading hue of pink. The freckle beneath his right eye. The way the phantom of the dimple of his left cheek never quite leaves his face.

All the things you’ve dreamt of seeing so up close, never knowing it could have been a reality. 

He lets go of your wrist, smiling softly with a shake of his head, “Can’t believe you’re gonna fall asleep on me.”

“Am not,” you nearly say under your breath, sighing in content. 

“Am too,” he mocks, a certain docility to all his teasing before he sighs as well, “It’s okay. You can. I’ll still be here when you wake up.”

You hum, eyes fluttering shut as you hear some rustling, “Promise, cowboy?” 

“Absolutely, kitty. You said something about tomorrow, remember?” 

You both laugh in sync as your couch suddenly becomes the most comfortable place in the world. 

Just before losing consciousness, right as you feel Eddie’s breathing even out along with your own, you decide to open your eyes one last time to catch sight of the cowboy hat perched carefully on your coffee table. 

The waves were louder than usual tonight. Your feet felt heavy as you trekked through the sand. It took a few minutes, but then you spotted him. 

He was standing right along the shoreline, wearing chinos and a linen button down that was flapping in the ocean’s light breeze. You started calling out his name. He turned around quickly. 

He looked just like he always did – handsome and a little brooding. But it was clear there was more going on. His hair was a little more disheveled than you recalled, and his eyes looked a little pinkish in the moonlight, like he’d been crying about something. 

“Hey Y/N,” he said, gulping a little. It was like he was almost out of breath. 

You walked toward him gently, almost like he was a deer you didn’t want to spook into running away. You lifted up your blanket. “You want to come sit down with me for a while?” 

He took a minute, before gently nodding his head. You laid out your blanket atop the sand and sat down. He slowly plopped next to you, still not saying much of anything. He seemed almost like he was walking in a dream. 

“Everything okay? You look a little out of it,” you said.

He nodded his head and gave you a small smile. “I’m good.” 

“Really? Because you look like you’re about to launch yourself in the water and try to flee Cousins Beach.” He laughed. 

It was quiet for a few minutes. It was clear he was stewing over something. 

“My ex-girlfriend is marrying my brother,” he finally said. “They’ve both been staying at the house this week.” 

Your head jerked toward him. You made a million different guesses of what could have made him so worked up. But that? That was nowhere near what you would have said.

You studied his face, looking for some type of clue to know what to say. After a few silent beats, you replied, “Well that’s insanely fucked up.”

Conrad looked over at you and laughed. And you can’t help it, you smiled. “What?” you asked. “Am I wrong?”

He shook his head, still grinning a little. “No, you’re just the only person to actually say that. And … it’s nice.” 

“You mean to tell me no one else thinks it’s crazy your ex girlfriend is marrying your younger brother?” 

Conrad shrugged. “I mean, yeah. Pretty much.” 

You take a moment to process all of what he’s saying. It must be so confusing for him, you think. There are certain unspoken rules of decorum in families and friendships, and one of the most prominent ones is, do not date your sibling or friend’s ex. Yet, somehow Conrad’s entire support system seemed to forget that rule in the aftermath of his mother’s death. 

How isolating it must be, to be so profoundly aware of everyone’s feelings — to take care of everyone all the time — and yet not have the same thoughtfulness extended your way. And worse, in Conrad’s case, to be treated like such a normal courtesy is abnormal. 

You wished you could take it all away for him. You could still see the way his grief hung over him like a cloud. And now, he was carrying whatever this mess was too.

“Look, I don’t know you as well as everyone else does, but I can say that all of this is pretty bizarre,” you said. “And I’m sorry if people are acting like it’s normal. It’s not.” 

He glanced over at you. “Thanks, Y/N.” You gently squeezed his arm in acknowledgement.

For a minute, neither of you said anything. You listened as the waves crashed against the shore, hoping the sound would give you both some reprieve from the heaviness.

He was the one who spoke again first. “How did you start dating again after Jake?” 

You felt a tug on your heart at the memory of your ex-boyfriend. He was a former Cousins Beach regular, but even more significantly, he was your first love and first heartbreak. It took you months to even start to recover, but even now, years later, you still grew a little sad thinking about him. It had been a bad, heartwrenching breakup. 

“I threw myself into it and moved robotically for a bit,” you confessed. “I think everyone after they get out of a relationship forgets how to date, and so for a while, I just made it about getting into the practice. I just went out with a bunch of different folks and I used it as a way to get a better sense of what I actually want.” 

“I don’t think there’s a right way to do it,” you continued. “There’s only your way. The only guidance my therapist gave me was to figure out what non-negotiables I discovered from my relationship with Jake.” You bit your lip and toyed with your hands. “To be honest, I’m still figuring it out all the time. And I don’t know if it gets easier. I can’t imagine it’s easy now if your ex is marrying your sibling.”

He gave a short laugh. “I worry about dating other people. I’m still figuring things out all the time. And I don’t know any person who’d want to date me if they have to be around my ex just because she’s marrying my brother.”

You shook your head. “I think you’re being too hard on yourself. None of that is your burden to carry. You’re just the person who is there. And besides, we’re all figuring things out all the time.” You squeezed his arm again. “Anyone would be lucky to date you. You’re thoughtful, you’re kind and you’re smart. And you know all the girls in Cousins are still fawning over you all the time.” 

Conrad looked surprised at that statement. “What do you mean?” 

You cocked an eyebrow at him. “You haven’t noticed? Literally I heard the other weekend when you were at the beach, Trisha Larsen almost got hit by a volleyball because she was staring at you the whole time. And every time I come back, all the regular girls are talking about you. They always say how good you look and how much they wish they could date you.”

Conrad stared at you, and you got a feeling that something you said shifted something in him. You couldn’t decipher the intensity in his gaze. Just as you were about to ask what he was thinking, he asked, “And you’re a part of those conversations?” 

There was a small smirk tugging on his lips. You blushed. “I’m not saying anything, but I do hear it.” 

He laughed this time, and you hit his arm, still blushing. In truth, you had told others over the years that you thought Conrad was attractive, but he was always unattainable to you, especially after he started dating Belly. 

“The boys talk about you the same way, you know,” he said. “Every summer, Jeremiah, Steven and I used to try to place bets on who would actually be the one to go on a date with you. I think Jeremiah tried to flirt with you, but you always turned him down. By the time any of us actually were old enough to get a little courage, you started dating Jake.” 

“You placed bets?” you asked. You tried not to be embarrassed by the fact that your voice raised at the end of the question. Conrad laughed.

“Every summer. I mean, we never put money down because we were teens and didn’t have any,” he said, smiling. “But it was as high-stakes as it could be for being like, 16.” 

“So you’re here coming for me about being in conversations about people liking you, but you were initiating conversations about having a crush on me for years?” you teased. 

“Hey hey hey, I never would’ve judged you if you were,” he said, still laughing. “I mean to be honest, I’m kind of hurt that my 16-year-old feelings weren’t reciprocated.”

“Well, you don’t know that. You never tried to ask me out!” 

Conrad lifted his eyebrows. “You’re being serious right now? Like you, the debutante princess, would’ve given me the time of day? Nah. I was so awkward back then. You remember my glasses and all.” 

“I would’ve. Dead serious,” you insisted. “I just always thought you were so into Belly.” 

Suddenly, there was no more laughter. You had that feeling again – that what you said changed the mood in a more serious way than you thought you were capable of. You felt your cheeks warm up again, as Conrad’s blue eyes stared into yours.

“I liked you,” he said, a little more quietly. “For a really long time, too.” 

Your breath hitched. It was funny how certain truths could transport you back into time. You felt like you were 15-years-old again and admiring Conrad from across the beach as he dove into the water. In the past seven years, you’d filled out more and became a little smarter, and yet he still made you feel like a lovestruck teenage girl as he uttered those words. 

“Me too,” you confessed. 

For a minute, the words hung in the air. You didn’t know what to say. You felt like you were on the precipice of something. Like at any moment, you were about to experience a moment that would have you hurtling toward a different direction in your life. It was only a matter of who’d be willing to dive into it first. 

It was Conrad who finally had the courage. “Can I kiss you?” he asked. 

You said breathily, “Yes.” 

One of his hands cupped your face as he leaned in. His lips were gentle at first, almost hesitant. You kissed him back in a similar way, slowly exploring what his lips tasted and felt like. You wanted to savor every moment of kissing Conrad Fisher.

His other hand wrapped around your side and tugged you closer toward him. In a rush of confidence you swung one of your legs over his waist and straddled him, while still kissing him. He wrapped his arms around you, both of his hands resting on your hips, as he tugged you as close as he could. 

He pulled his mouth away from yours, and you started kissing along his neck and ear. You heard him whisper gently, “Fuck,” and you smiled a little. 

“Y/N,” he called breathily. You kept kissing along his jaw.  “Hey, hey, slow down for a second.” 

You leaned back and looked at him. His face was a little flushed, and you could feel him grow hard in his pants. He shook his head a little, still grinning. 

“I- I need to stop this now, because if I don’t, I will probably lose my mind on this beach,” he said. “And I don’t think I can handle being arrested right now for indecency along with everything else.” 

You shifted a little in his lap, and you cast down your eyes. You felt a little embarrassed for getting carried away. “I get it,” you replied. 

He lifted your head up by your chin and looked into your eyes. “Hey, I really want to, but not here and not tonight. I don’t want you to walk away thinking anything less. But it’s getting late.” You nodded your head. “C’mon, let’s get you home.” 

You got off his lap, and both of you stood up. As you walked toward the asphalt, Conrad asked, “You need a ride back?” 

You shook your head. “No, it’s okay. I brought my bike.” 

Conrad gave you a long look as you started to place your blanket and water bottle in the bike’s basket. One of his hands closed around your handlebars. “C’mon Y/N, it’s late. Let me give you a ride. We can put your bike in my car.” You didn’t argue with him, instead giving him a small smile and a quick thanks. 

He walked your bike toward his car and popped open the back trunk, while you hopped into his passenger seat. You’d never been in his car before. It smelt like cedar inside, and you knew immediately that his mom probably taught him to keep an air freshener in his car. 

Conrad slid into the driver’s seat, and the car rattled with the new weight. “You still live in the same place, right?” he asked. 

You nodded your head. “Same old, same old.” 

He slipped his key into the ignition, and as the car started, “No Other Heart” by Mac DeMarco started playing on the radio. He rolled down the windows as he pulled out of his parallel parking spot. As Conrad drove, he hummed along. His fingers gently drummed on the steering wheel along with the song’s synths. 

It felt like one of those picturesque scenes of a teen movie. You wanted to lay your head out the window as he drove along Cousins Beach's winding roads and feel the night air on your face.

Eventually, he parked in front of your family’s beach house. “Hey, we’re going to actually have a party over at the house this weekend, on Saturday, if you want to come,” he said. You raised an eyebrow. “Not wedding-related or anything. Steven and Taylor are in town for a bit.” 

“Is it going to be anything like last time?” 

Both of your lips quirked up at the memory of a few summers ago, when his aunt was about to sell the house and the Fisher boys decided to throw a very unrestrained party.

“Nothing like that,” he said, shaking his head and grinning. “Well, maybe a little like that. But in a maybe more adult way.” 

“Okay, I’ll come. Just text me when.”

*** 

He sent you the details the next day: We’re starting a cookout at 6 p.m. over at our place, if you’re still in. It’s potluck style. We’ll have burgers and hot dogs, and we’re asking people to bring a side or a dessert. Taylor is going to make a batch of margaritas and we’ll have some beers, but if you want something else to drink, just text me and I’ll pick it up for you. Bring a swimsuit if you want to go swimming. 

When the day of the cookout finally came, you spent an hour getting ready. You spent most of your time finding just the right outfit, before eventually settling on a yellow bikini with little martinis around it, and a matching light pink linen cover up set that involved boxy shorts and a button down. You threw a pair of underwear, a bra, a towel, sunscreen and a claw clip in your tote bag. You put on a pair of white, strappy kitten heels. 

It was still half an hour before the party even started. And even though you were ready to go, you didn’t plan to show up until 30 minutes after the cookout started to ease any of the awkwardness between you and Conrad. Sure, the two of you kissed a few days ago, but you weren’t sure if it was just a one time thing. Everything always felt romantic in a late night haze, especially in Cousins Beach. 

Your phone then chimed with a text. It was from Conrad: Hey I’m going on a last minute run for some more drinks and I’ll be passing by your house. Want me to pick you up? 

Your heart lurched. You quickly replied: Yes please!! You’ll be saving a girl from figuring out the logistics of hauling a watermelon feta salad. 

Be there in 8 mins. 

You laughed. Of course Conrad was the type to give a precise ETA, rather than an abstract 5-10 minutes like anyone else. When he arrived, he got out of his car and knocked on your front door. It was a nice gesture compared to most men you knew, who would’ve just texted you a simple “here” while still waiting in the car. 

“Need any help?” he asked, looking at the dish you had in your hands. You shook your head. 

The drive to the liquor store was quick. He smiled at you in the parking lot. “I’ll be honest, I don’t know how much I trust Taylor with the margaritas.” 

You laughed. “Why? They were good a few years ago!” 

“But you remember how fucked up everyone got? You never know the proportions with her.” You laughed. The boys and girls of the house did have a reputation for pouring with a heavy hand. And worse, they were good at hiding how much liquor they were able to get into a cocktail.

“So what are we stocking up on then?” you asked, as the two of you walked into the store. 

“Well, we have a lot of Kona Big Waves and Heinikens, but I think we need something to switch it up a bit,” he said. “White Claws aren’t allowed because Taylor is traumatized from drinking too many in college one night and throwing up, apparently.” 

“That’s honestly impressive. Mine is two too many Long Island Iced Teas,” you replied. You tapped your chin. “How about some Surfsides? That’s like, the basic one everyone likes.” 

“But is that what you want?” 

Your cheeks heat up a little. You cocked your head. “I like Surfsides, but I always want Coke and red wine – if it were up to me. But it’s not exactly a popular party drink.” 

Conrad’s nose scrunched up. “Really? Coke and red wine?” 

You lifted up your hands. “Hey, you asked me!” 

He walked over to the wine section and started examining some of the blends. “What kind of red? Like any?” 

“You really want to do this? Are you sure?” You rested one of your hands on one of the wine racks.

He lifted his head to look at you. “If it’s what you want, then yeah. Besides, I’m trying to do new things this year. Break old habits.”

It was a small statement, but still sweet, even if he was joking a little at the end. “Okay. Well I’m not going to complain.” You walked over to the section of the store that kept the international red wines. “You usually want a Spanish wine, since it’s a cocktail based out of Spain called Kalimotxo. They used to make it to hide the taste of bad wine.” You picked up a cheap Tempranillo. “Something like this.” 

Conrad peered at the bottle. “Where did you learn all this?” 

“I worked at a wine bar in my last year of college,” you replied, as he read the back label to the bottle you grabbed. “Don’t expect me to act like a sommelier though, I just was a hostess and then after I finished my shift, the actual experts would pour me a drink or two. If we had a bottle of red open too long and it turned, we’d pour Coke in a glass with it, add a lime and some bitters. But if I’m feeling lazy, which honestly is most of the time, I only add Coke. Usually Mexican Coke is the best one, but it’s hard to find sometimes.” 

“I’ve just never heard of this before,” he said.

“It’s one of my favorite summer drinks. You gotta serve it over ice.” 

He picked up another two bottles of the cheap Tempranillo you selected. “I’m trusting you.” 

As you walked over to the check out section, you picked up a two Liter bottle of Coke. You offered to split the cost with him – it was your idea after all – but Conrad insisted on paying in full. 

Once you were back in the car, this time listening to the gentle hum of 10cc’s “I’m Not in Love.” A gingham bag filled with bottles of red wine and Coke leaned against your feet. You thought of one of the first times you heard this song. You were five years-old, peering up at your dad toy with his record player. You didn’t know much about the meaning behind the songs your dad used to play around the house. 

The first time you actually heard the song – truly heard it – you were at a dive bar with Jake near downtown Cousins Beach. The two of you were playing pool, and one of the townies that stuck around yearlong requested it. You remembered the way he kissed you as Eric Stewart’s voice sang, “Ooh you’ll wait a long time for me.” The kiss felt dissonant in that moment. You couldn’t explain to yourself why. 

“This used to be one of my mom’s favorite songs,” Conrad said. You instantly snapped out of the memory. “She used to play it all the time when Jer and I were kids.”

“Did you like it?” Conrad shrugged. 

“I think I liked that my mom liked it. And I liked the way she would sing it around the house.” He turned up the volume and started singing, in a somewhat shaky falsetto voice, “Ooh you’ll wait a long time for me.” You started laughing. He nudged you with his elbow. “C’mon.” 

You joined in with him, “Ooh you’ll wait a long time.” You were giggling as you peered over at him. The sun was still high in the sky, the way it always seemed to be during the summer. He had the windows down, and the wind was making his hair drift perfectly out of his face.

It started to occur to you that you could easily fall in love with Conrad Fisher. And maybe that was a crazy thought. It’d only been a few days since you kissed after all. But there was something in that moment that you couldn’t shake – some sense of permanence. Maybe it was the allure of the summer sun and Cousins Beach that had been influencing you, but whatever it was, you didn’t want this feeling that had been curving its way around your heart to go away. 

***

You both were about 10 minutes late to the cookout by the time you arrived at the Fishers’ beach house. Conrad insisted on carrying your bowl of watermelon feta salad and the bag of alcohol as you walked in. As you two walked in the backyard, Steven called out, “Bro, took you long enough!” His eyes then widened as he spotted you. “Oh, hey Y/N.” 

“Hey Steven,” you said, smiling a little. 

Conrad set your bowl of salad on a foldable table they set up in the backyard. “Yeah, sorry it took me a minute, I went to go pick up Y/N too.” 

Steven seemed to stutter for a minute. “N-nah dude. Not a big deal. It’s good to see you, Y/N.” 

“Thanks for having me,” you said. “I caught Conrad the other day at the beach and he mentioned that I should come to your cookout. I hope it’s not too much of a problem.” 

“Not at all,” Steven said quickly. “Uh do you want anything to drink?” 

“I’m making her something right now,” Conrad said. You glanced back over at him. He had two plastic cups in front of him, filled with ice, and he was working on opening one of the bottles of wine you purchased. To you, he asked, “Do you want the lime and bitters?” You shook your head. 

“Con, did you just get red wine?” You knew who that voice belonged to. You turned around and spotted Belly walking out of the house. She was wearing a polka dot mini dress and a pair of strappy heels, and she was holding bags of chips. Jeremiah walked out right behind her, carrying a large jug filled with what could only be Taylor’s margarita batch. 

“Dude why didn’t you get seltzers?” Jeremiah asked, as he set the jug on the table. 

“Y/N had this idea for a drink that she picked up from a wine bar,” Conrad replied. “It’s a Spanish cocktail.” Okay, so he was making it sound a bit more upscale than it was, but you weren’t going to say that. So instead, you just gave a wave and nodded your head. 

“Yeah, it’s one of my favorite drinks for the summer time. And good for parties if you don’t want to drink beer,” you said.

Jeremiah didn’t address you, just turned back to Conrad. “Okay, but did you get any seltzers or anything?” 

“No dude, but I mean, we told people to bring their own beer. I’m sure someone will bring seltzers,” he said. 

“It’s a cookout, Conrad. People won’t want to drink wine,” Jeremiah replied. You and Conrad glanced at each other.

“Well I want to drink wine,” you chimed in. You gestured toward Conrad. “And it looks like he wants to drink wine too.” 

It was tense for a moment, until finally Belly spoke, “Thanks for going on another run, Conrad.” Jeremiah shot her a look for a second. Conrad just gave a quick nod to Belly, turning away. 

“I’m gonna start grilling,” Conrad said. He didn’t meet anyone’s eyes as he walked off. 

“It’s good to see you, Y/N,” Belly said. She gave you a hug. “Thanks for coming.” You noticed the small, thin ring on her left hand. 

“Conrad told me about your engagement. Congratulations.” Belly beamed. 

“That’s so sweet. Thank you.” She started telling you details about the wedding she was planning. It was a small event and only a small handful of family and friends would be invited. But the most surprising detail was the wedding party. Conrad and Steven would be co-Best Men. 

You looked at Conrad out of the corner of your eye as Belly talked. He was fixated on the grill, not peeking at anyone or anything else. You tried to imagine him standing next to Jeremiah as his ex-girlfriend walked down the aisle. You felt yourself sink at the thought. 

***

About an hour later, the party started filling out. You were gossiping with some of the other girls your age who had also been Cousins Beach regulars as you were eating one of the burgers Conrad made. He had taken a break a while back to mingle with some of the guests, but now he was flipping hot dogs at the grill. 

Conrad was talking with Steven as you walked over. You overheard just some of what Steven was saying, “Dude, I can’t believe you came in with Y/N. Y/N. Why didn’t you tell me bro?” Conrad seemed to be blushing a little, but then his eyes lifted toward you. 

“Hey Y/N,” he said. 

“Mind if I join you guys?” you asked.

“Nah, no big deal,” Steven said. “Here, come sit if you want.” He pulled up an Adirondack chair for you. You plopped in the chair and crossed your legs. 

“What are you two talking about?” you asked, a little smirk playing on your lips. 

Steven jumped in. “We were just talking about how much more food we probably need to grill. You know, Conrad’s one of the best cooks that I know.” 

“The burger was really good,” you said, trying to meet Conrad’s eyes, with a little smile teasing at your lips. “Now, when are you going to join the rest of us and drink a little more?” 

“That’s what I’m saying,” Steven chimed in. “C’mon man, I’ll grab you a beer. You can chill for a bit. I swear. I can make sure nothing burns.” 

“S’okay. I got a drink right here still,” Conrad replied. He lifted his cocktail off of the table. It was the one you taught him to make earlier today. “And are you sure?” Steven insisted, taking the tongs out of Conrad’s hand. 

Conrad sat next to you on one of the other chairs. You lifted his cup toward him in a cheer. 

“Are you enjoying the party?” he asked, taking a sip of his drink. You nodded your head. 

“It’s good to see everyone. It’s definitely much tamer than last time,” you joked. “Even though who knows, someone could throw a television or something through the window at any moment.” You lifted your feet up onto your chair, curling up into a somewhat of a little ball. “How about you? You’ve been so busy grilling. I wasn’t sure if you’ve gotten a moment to enjoy yourself.” 

“I’ve been good. Besides, I like grilling,” he said. 

“You sure? You look like you’ve been trying to keep your head down during half of the event.” He shot a glance over at you.

“I’ve always been a little quiet. You know that.” 

You gave a brief nod. “I do, but you don’t look like you’re letting yourself have fun. You’re so busy taking care of other people for half of it. And some of those people seem to have some difficult personalities.” 

“You’re talking about Jer?” 

You nodded. “Yeah, why was he giving you so much shit? It’s not like it was his money.” He shrugged. 

“It’s not a big deal.” 

You stared at him for a long minute, trying to study if he was as nonplussed as he was saying, but it was hard to read him. You contemplated whether you should bring up that Belly told you that he was going to be a best man in the wedding, but as you looked at the laughter around you, you knew that it wasn’t the time. 

For now, your goal was to make Conrad Fisher have fun. 

“How about we start a drinking game?” you posed. A ghost of a smile hit his lips. “We could do Ride the Bus, King’s Cup, really anything.” He laughed. 

“That is so college,” he said. 

“Oh yeah, because you’re so much more mature than us just because you go to medical school.” You nudged him a little and you both laughed. You called out to Steven, who was in the middle of flipping some hot dogs, “Hey Steven, would you be down for King’s Cup after you finish grilling?” 

*** 

It took another fifteen minutes to assemble a group. A can of Heiniken sat on a table, with cards scattered in a circle around it. You were seated next to Conrad, and your thighs were touching. You tried to remain calm, but you were buzzing internally about it. Taylor, Jeremiah, Belly, Steven and two other partygoers named Kelsey and Reggie that you knew from your time around Cousins Beach joined you. 

It started innocently. You and Conrad decided to switch to a beer for the game to make things easier. You pulled an Ace, triggering a round of Waterfall, and Taylor took extra long to chug her drink just to bother Steven. Jeremiah pulled an eight, and he picked Belly as his date to drink with any time he had to sip. Conrad was the one who messed up a game of categories and had to take a sip.

But then Belly pulled an eight. You noticed she was starting to get a little drunk, and your stomach started churning. “I pick as my date…” She looked around the group. Then, she grinned. “Conrad.” 

You felt Conrad tense beside you. Even Jeremiah looked a little awkward. She took a sip of her drink, and Conrad did the same. You glanced over at him, but there was only a neutral expression on his face. It was Reggie’s turn next, and he pulled a card that incited a round of never have I ever. 

“Never have I ever … kissed a girl,” he said. All the boys and Taylor put a finger down.

It was Steven’s turn next. “Never have I ever … liked the same person as my friend.” Taylor and Belly giggled, both putting their fingers down.

“Never have I ever liked the same person as my sibling,” Kelsey said. 

You felt Conrad tense again. Jeremiah and him stared at each other, both not knowing what to do or say. But before anyone acted, Reggie put his finger down and laughed, while pointing at Kelsey, “You’re a bitch for that.” He turned to the rest of you. “I told Kelsey the other day about how I realized I was gay because I could not stop staring at my sister’s boyfriend.” 

Conrad seemed to relax next to you a little, but everyone in your circle felt a little awkward. Clearly Kelsey and Reggie weren’t clued into the history happening at the table.

The game kept going on, until Conrad put a card underneath the can’s tab and the beer clearly popped.

“Looks like Connie boy is going to have to chug the cup,” Steven said, clapping his hand on Conrad’s back. Conrad winced a little as he picked up the can, but he lifted it to his lifts and began to chug. Jeremiah clapped him on as Conrad gulped down the beer. When he finished, Conrad wiped around the edges of his lips with his fingers. You felt a jolt in your core. You crossed your legs and squeezed your legs together. Conrad noticed your shift in stance, and his eyes met yours. 

“I need another drink,” you said, walking over to the table where Taylor’s batch cocktails of margaritas were. You poured yourself a cup from the jug. And while you were at the table, you noticed an assortment of desserts. 

You picked up one of the cheesecake bites at the table and placed it on a small plate. You were debating on whether to grab another dessert when you felt a presence behind you. You knew almost immediately it was Conrad. There was something about his presence that felt electric when he was nearby.

“Sweet treat for a sweet girl?” he murmured in your ear. The question gave you goosebumps. 

You spun around to face him. You could tell the beer and wine was starting to affect him. His eyes looked a little hazy. 

“I’m deciding what else I should get,” you replied. Conrad eyed the table. “Nothing is sticking out to me though.” 

“Want a popsicle? We made some yesterday.”

It was exactly what you wanted. Within minutes, Conrad had quietly escorted you to the kitchen of the house. There was no one else inside the house. Just the two of you. 

“It’s kind of our secret treat,” he explained. 

“So I should be flattered by even being allowed back here?” 

He grinned. “Pretty much.” 

The popsicle was strawberry and cream flavored. It was exactly the type of dessert you were craving – something sweet, fruity, but not overwhelming. He handed you a bar.. You were delighted as you started licking the ends of it. 

You glanced up, and you noticed Conrad was staring at you the entire time. 

“What?” you asked, still eating the popsicle. “Are you going to have one too or am I just going to stand here?”

He seemed to snap out of the trance he was in. “Oh, nah. I had one already.” He tucked the tray back into the fridge and shut the door. 

“You just keep looking at me.” 

“You don’t want me to look at you?” 

Your cheeks heated. “No, I just wasn’t sure if something was on my face.” 

A small smile was curling up on his lips. “I just like looking at you. Is that so bad?” 

Your breath hitched, and you quickly shook your head. His hands cupped your face again, and he leaned in to give you a quick peck on the lips. He leaned back to look at you again, checking to make sure he still had your permission. And then, he kissed you again. This time, his tongue poked at your lips, asking for them to open. You leaned against the back of a counter as Conrad kept kissing you. 

He pulled away, then gave you a peck on your forehead. “You taste like strawberry now,” he said.

You were struggling to catch your breath. “What do I normally taste like?” 

He smiled again and shrugged. “I’m still trying to figure that out.” 

You both walked back out to the party. You were trying to act as normal as possible as you ate your popsicle, but you wanted to hold Conrad’s hand so badly.

***

By 9:30 p.m., most of the crowd trickled out of the party. There was a small remaining crowd, mostly of close friends. You sat in a chair with Steven, staring at the stars and monitoring the remaining people.

“I’m surprised no one was ballistic tonight,” he said. “I honestly thought we were going to have some drama.” 

You raised an eyebrow. “Really? Why?” 

He shot you a look. “Have you seen this group?” And you immediately laughed. 

But once your giggles subsided, you asked more seriously, “How is it? With them?”

Steven’s shoulders immediately slumped at the mention. He sighed and shook his head. “I honestly don’t know half the time.” He took a sip of his beer. “It was shit when Conrad and Belly just broke up, but for a minute, it all seemed like we’d be close again. Now, I don’t know what the hell is going on.” He took a few more sips of his drink, staring at Belly and Jeremiah. The two of them were splashing each other in the pool. Taylor was seated at the edge, with her feet dangling in the water. “Sometimes I think everyone has moved on, but then I’ll look over at Conrad and he’ll have the most crushed look on his face.” 

You shifted in your seat. “You think he’s still in love with her?” 

Steven snorted. “Oh, definitely.” He turned his head to look at you. “At least, on some level. But don’t you always think you’ll be somewhat in love with your first love?” 

You thought back to your time with Jake – the kisses, the late night debauchery, and the arguments. You remembered how you were sobbing like a baby during your break up, repeatedly asking him, “Why are you doing this?” Months later, it was something you were at peace with, but you definitely felt a tug on your heart every time you thought of him. You weren’t still actively in love with him, but there was a piece of you that you felt like would always stay with him. 

“I get that,” you finally said. 

Your eyes drifted over to Conrad. He was talking to Kelsey over on one of the side tables, and you could tell it was mostly small talk. His eyes briefly glanced over at you, before shifting back over to Kelsey to focus on whatever she was saying. 

“So how did Conrad convince you to come?” Steven asked. 

You laughed. “You’re acting like it was such a burden for me to show up.”

“Well, you were always too cool for us when we were kids.” You waved Steven off, laughing a bit. “No, I’m serious. We used to talk about it all the time.” 

“Conrad said something like that. He said you guys used to place bets on who would ask me out first,” you teased. Steven groaned. 

“Conrad!” he yelled. Conrad immediately turned over his head, completely pausing his conversation with Kelsey. “Why did you rat us out to Y/N?” Conrad laughed and started walking over. 

“Listen, you try keeping your mouth shut around her. It’s impossible,” Conrad replied. As he talked, he placed his hand in your hair. You almost shivered by the touch. You noticed that Steven was eyeing Conrad’s hand placement too, but he didn’t say anything about it. 

“Out of curiosity though, who did you guys usually bet would be the first one to ask me out?” 

“Oh, Conrad, no question,” Steven said. “There was one year I was so sure he was going to do it during a party over at Nicole’s place. You two were talking, and me and Jer were spying on you guys to see if Conrad was finally going to step up and ask.” 

You were almost positive you knew the exact party he was talking about. You’d been trying to pull together a decent drink but there wasn’t much liquor or mixer left behind. Conrad had come up behind you and offered to give you some of the seltzers they’d brought. You two ended up talking for almost an hour. 

“Oh, right but I’m the one who’s ratting you out.” Conrad said. Steven gave Conrad the middle finger, and Conrad quickly flipped it back.

As the two were joking, you saw that Belly was looking over at the three of you. She and Jeremiah had moved out of the pool, and they were now holding hands while in a conversation with one of the guests. But it was clear she wasn’t really paying attention.  You looked back over at Conrad, who was barely paying any attention to it. His hand was still in your hair, stroking the back of your head absentmindedly. A small thought started creeping up in your mind: Would he do this even if he was sober? 

You shook it off, trying just to enjoy the moment. Conrad and Steven were still giving each other shit. For most of it, the two of them were reminiscing on some of their memories from the beach they had over the years. You briefly excused yourself to use the restroom. 

When you were in the bathroom, you paused to look in the mirror. Your hair was now a little messy from Conrad playing with it, and the lip gloss was completely off your face from Conrad kissing you in the kitchen. You quickly reapplied and fixed your hair with your fingers. 

You ran right into a body when you stepped out. You stumbled a bit and felt a pair of hands wrap around you to keep you upright. It was Conrad.

“I came to check on you,” he said. His hands were still on your arms. “Are you okay?” 

“Oh yeah. I just broke the seal,” you explained. “Are you okay?” 

His thumbs were drawing small circles on your forearms. It was making it hard for you to focus, and it didn’t help that you were fairly tipsy. 

“I’m fine,” he replied, almost in a whisper. The air felt charged. You almost had shivers at the way he was peering at you. There was a sense of lust in his gaze. His eyes briefly flickered toward your lips. 

For a moment, neither of you spoke. Whatever spell you both were caught in seemed to make your throat go dry. 

Conrad then leaned in and started to kiss you again. It was different than in the kitchen or on the beach. He was letting himself explore you this time a little more. His hands moved from your arms to rest on your waist. His tongue poked at your lips, and you opened your mouth as he kept kissing you. You felt your back hit the wall, and Conrad’s head snapped away from yours. His hand went around the back of your head. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

You cut him off, “It’s okay, Conrad. I’m okay.” He gave a short laugh, and the two of you started kissing again. One of his hands cupped your ass and gave it a quick squeeze. You let out a small whimper and Conrad pulled away from you to grin. 

“Stay here tonight,” he said breathily. You nodded your head, and he started kissing you again.

You were seconds away from grabbing his hand and pulling him into a room. You’d even let him just take you against the wall right there, despite the chances of someone walking in on you. But before either of those things could happen, you heard Jeremiah start calling Conrad’s name from downstairs. The two of you immediately pulled a part from one another. 

“Conrad, we need you dude!” Conrad groaned, and you heard Jeremiah start running up the stairs. The youngest Fisher boy spotted the two of you, and his demeanor shifted. There was a small smirk on his face. “Oh, sorry guys. I didn’t mean to interrupt.” Conrad gave him a tight smile. “I’ll let you guys get back to … whatever it was you were doing.” Jeremiah winked at Conrad before he headed back down the stairs.

Conrad covered his face with one of his hands, clearly embarrassed. “He’s such a doofus sometimes,” he said, shaking his head. You laughed. 

“It’s okay.” You squeezed his arms. “I’m not going anywhere tonight, but you should go see what’s going on that they need you for.”

When you walked back outside, Jeremiah was standing by Steven. The two waved Conrad over. Conrad promised he’d be back and walked over to his younger brother and best friend. They started whispering to one another, and you decided to grab another drink. Kelsey and Reggie had left at that point. It was only you, Taylor, the boys and Belly left. You picked at more of the snacks that were still on the table as you sipped on more red wine and Coke. 

You then heard Steven yell, “Belly flop!” and spun around. The boys had grabbed Belly and they were hauling her toward the pool. They swung her a few times, before throwing her into the water. She was giggling as she swam back up to the surface. Jeremiah took off his shirt and jumped in. Taylor jumped in shortly after in her swimsuit. 

You glanced over at Conrad, who was laughing by the edge, up until Steven pushed him in. He surfaced, throwing off his wet shirt onto the side. You quickly took off your kitten heels and cover up and jumped in. Everyone in the pool was splashing each other and laughing, all like they were teenagers. You joined in the water fight. Conrad jumped behind you and tackled you into the water. You were both giggling as you came up. He discreetly pulled you toward him. 

Belly was the first to get up out of the water and wrap a towel around herself. Jeremiah followed shortly after her. They talked for a bit. “We’re going to go watch a movie, if any of you guys want to join,” Belly announced.

“Ooh, we should watch 10 Things I Hate About You,” Taylor said, as she started climbing out of the pool. Steven groaned. 

“Taylor, we watched that last time,” he said. 

“So?” They started toweling off. 

Belly glanced over at you and Conrad. “Do you guys want to join?” 

You looked over at Conrad. “Uh, yeah, but you can start without us,” he said. “We’ll be in soon.” 

The four of them headed inside. It was just you and Conrad in the pool. The music was off, and all you could hear was the water lightly lapping against the pool’s edges. 

Conrad pulled you closer toward him. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders as you met his eyes. “I’m glad you came today,” he murmured. “And I’m glad you’re staying too.”

“Me too,” you replied. You paused. “How did you feel today? I know you said you were okay, but…” Your voice trailed off. You weren’t sure how to voice the complete thought.

He shrugged. “I mean, I was mostly thinking about you the whole time. I’m just happy you seemed like you were having a good time.” 

“I had a really good time. I had my favorite drink, a strawberry popsicle, and several good kisses.”

“Oh, you think I’m a good kisser?” You giggled and nodded your head. 

“But don’t let it get to your head too much.” 

“Oh no, that’s definitely getting to my head. A cute girl is telling me I’m a good kisser? I feel like I just won a medal.” 

You laughed and buried your head into his chest. The two of you were quiet for a moment as you just held onto each other. You close your eyes, enjoying the feeling of his warmth in contrast to the coldness of the water. 

“Hey, you want to go back upstairs? Or, if you want to go watch the movie, we can.” 

You shrugged. “It’s up to you.” 

“You should know that I’m a chronic people pleaser, according to my therapist, so when you say things like that, I immediately start guessing what I think you would want,” he said. You giggled again. 

“Okay, okay, why don’t we take all the rest of the food in and then we join them for the movie?”

There wasn’t much left to clean up, since Conrad had been sporadically cleaning up cans throughout the party. He hauled in Taylor’s jug of margaritas, which was pretty much empty at this point, and the bags full of hamburger and hot dog buns. You brought in some of the bowls of snacks. When Steven saw you both bringing stuff in, he joined in to help out take the rest of the stuff in. It took you about 10 minutes to get everything cleared out. 

Meanwhile, Belly and Taylor had been working on making a cheese board and popcorn to snack on during the movie. They had pulled out bottles of white wine from a stash that was somewhere in the house. Belly handed you a glass of Sauvignon Blanc, and you thanked her. 

You plopped near the end of the loveseat in the living room. Conrad and Steven were in an impromptu competition to see who could catch the most grapes in their mouth, while everyone else was getting settled. Jeremiah and Belly took over the couch, and Taylor sat next to you on the loveseat. 

While you were outside, the group had decided on watching Hit Man. Jeremiah put on the movie, and Conrad sat on the floor in front of you. One of his arms was pressed against your legs. There had been a whole chair open, but still, Conrad chose to sit by you, even if it meant he’d be sitting on the hardwood floor instead of a cushioned seat. 

About halfway through the movie, Taylor had dozed off. Belly admitted she was starting to get sleepy too from the drinking and the sunshine. Jeremiah scooped her up and carried her bridal style upstairs. Steven had decided he was going to take over Jeremiah’s old room, but before he went up the stairs, he remarked, “Be safe, you two.” Conrad tried to throw a pillow at him. 

When it was just the two of you – well, three, counting Taylor who was not lucid – Conrad asked quietly, “Do you want to go to my room?” You nodded your head. Conrad stood up and offered his hand. You took it and stood up from the couch. 

He led the way up the stairs, still holding onto your hand the whole time. You could hear Jeremiah and Belly laughing down the hall. He gently pushed open a door, and you realized his room was right next door to theirs. 

“Uh, I need to use the bathroom, but feel free to make yourself comfortable, okay?” he said. He was still speaking quietly. It was a funny contrast to his brother next door, who was still laughing. You gave him a quick nod. 

When he left the room, you started looking around. There was a guitar propped up against the wall and a Pearl Jam poster over his desk. You noticed he still had a pile of CDs in the corner and a CD player. You started parsing through his collection. Of course, he had Pearl Jam, Nirvana, Arctic Monkeys, Foo Fighters, Red Hot Chili Peppers and Weezer. You had just popped a CD into his player when he walked back in. You smiled. “Hope you don’t mind. I was looking through your CDs.” 

“Yeah?” he asked. He came up right behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist. He rested his head into the crook of your neck, as your back was pressed against him. “What did you pick?” 

“There is Nothing Left to Lose by the Foo Fighters,” you answered. “I didn’t realize you were such a big Dave Grohl guy, but maybe I should have guessed. You got that whole brooding thing going on.” He laughed. 

“I saw Foo Fighters for the first time when I was 15,” he recounted. “My mom took me. My dad didn’t see the point in it. He thought it was stupid.” 

You shook your head. “He obviously never heard Learning to Fly.”

“That’s one of my favorite songs. When my mom died, I couldn’t stop listening to it.” You turned to face him. “It’s funny, because apparently it’s one of Dave’s least favorite songs on that record, but I think it’s one of his best.” 

You paused. “I like that you say Dave like you know him.” 

Conrad laughed. “I don’t know, I just- That whole year after, I couldn’t stop playing it. I’d maybe get a little too drunk and just keep playing it, over and over again.”

“I get it.” He flashed you a grateful smile. 

“Anyway, what else did you find in there that you liked?” You told him more about some of the artists in there that you enjoyed, like The Wonder Years, Declan McKenna, and The Strokes. Eventually, you had both been sitting on his bed. You were laying down with your head in his lap, and he was running his hand through your hair again as the two of you talked about music. 

“You know, this is one of my favorite conversations I’ve had recently,” he said. “I don’t get to talk about this kinda stuff as much anymore. Everyone’s always asking me about work, the wedding or my future plans. It’s good to just be able to talk about the things I like again.” 

You squeezed his leg. “I really like talking to you, and I liked today a lot too. Thank you for picking me up and letting me stay.”

“Of course,” he said. It got quiet for a minute. You sat up, knowing that if it didn’t happen now that it probably wouldn’t get another opening. You straddled him again, just like you did earlier in the week on the beach, and you kissed Conrad. You’d been aching for him all day. You could feel him hard beneath you, and you knew he’d been feeling the same too. 

It started with kissing, and you were grinding your hips into his. His hands were resting on your hips and guiding your movements. He pulled away from your lips and started kissing you along your jawline. You let out a small moan as he focused his attention on your neck. 

He started unbuttoning your linen shirt and you threw it onto the ground. And when that was off, his hands started tugging on the strings of your bikini to take it off too. Conrad pulled back to take a look at you. You blushed under his gaze. 

“You need to take your shirt off too,” you said. He gave a short laugh and took his t-shirt off. And then, he flipped you over, so he was on top. His hands were right by your sides, propping him up. 

He paused. His eyes wandered over your figure. It was like he was studying your features. “You looked so beautiful all day today,” he finally said. “I couldn’t stop looking at you.”

One of your hands moved up to cup his face. “I wanted to be next to you the whole day, but I wasn’t sure if I was being too much.” 

He shook his head. “No, not at all. I- I wanted the same thing.” He leaned down to kiss you again. And then, his lips started to move down your body. He kissed the sides of your neck again, moving almost slowly. And then his lips moved to one of your breasts. His tongue flicked your nipple, as one of his hands went to cup your core. You moaned at his movements. 

That seemed to encourage him. His lips moved over to your other breast. His hand had moved up, to start sneaking its way under the hem of your shorts. Two of his fingers started rubbing your clit. You moaned and bucked your hips up a little. 

“You squirm so much,” Conrad said, lifting his lips off your breast. 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you replied breathily. He was still toying with your clit. 

“No, no. It’s a good thing. I like it.” He grinned. “I want to eat you out. Can I?” You nodded your head vigorously. Conrad pulled at your shorts to peel them off. Your underwear came off shortly after. He gave you a quick peck on the lips, then shifted his body down to focus on your center. 

He kissed the inside of both of your thighs first, and you shivered at the intimacy. He started off with a tentative kiss, right on your clit, and then, he gave a quick flick of his tongue. Your hand moved into his hair. He flattened his tongue and went from your entrance right up to your clit slowly, and you moaned again. He then said, “If you like something, I want you to tell me.” 

“What you’re doing right now is amazing,” you said. He grinned, and then his lips went back to your core. His tongue was focused on your clit, flicking back and forth on it. He then slowly inserted one finger inside you. You gasped at the sensation. Your hips naturally bucked up again, and his other arm then swung around from your side to pin your hips down. Your legs wrapped around his sides where they could, as he continued to kiss your center. His finger moved in and out of you. 

Eventually, his mouth moved back up to focus on your breasts, as he continued to finger you. He then whispered, “Think you can do two?” 

“Yes,” you said. And he inserted another finger inside you. You wrapped your legs even tighter around you, as his fingers pumped into you vigorously. His other hand went up to prop himself up by your left side, so he could lean down to start kissing you again. You could faintly taste yourself on his lips.

Eventually, you felt like you were on the brink. “Conrad, I’m going to come. Can I?” 

“Yes, please,” he said, before kissing you again. He kept fingering you and kissing you. And then, you felt a knot inside you start to grow especially tight. You squeezed his arms as you came, and tightened one of your legs around him. His fingers started slowing down. 

“I- I’m good,” you said. He grinned. 

“Good girl,” he said. “I don’t want to be done with you yet, though. Is that okay?” You nodded your head. 

“I don’t want to be done with you either. I want you.” You glanced down at his pants. You cupped your hand around where his cock would be tucked in his swim trunks that he was still wearing from earlier. Conrad was hard. He kissed you as you started tugging at the hem. 

“Here, let me help you out,” he said as he pulled down the shorts. His cock sprang up. You licked your hand and started slowly stroking him.

You widened your legs and guided the tip of his cock toward your core, but then Conrad grabbed your  hand and pinned it down. “Let me please. I want to take my time with you.” He rocked his hips slightly, so his cock rubbed against your slit and you moaned. He kept doing that, until you were even more of a writhing mess beneath him. After a few minutes of teasing, he finally positioned his cock near your entrance and pushed inside you.

“Oh, oh. Conrad,” you whimpered. The one hand you had that wasn’t pinned away squeezed his arm. 

“You look so beautiful.” The hand that wasn’t pinning you down moved to cup one of your breasts again. His eyes were focused on yours. You’d never been with someone who made so much eye contact with you during sex. 

His hips kept rocking into yours. He then swung your legs over his shoulders and you moaned at the different angle. His hands were clasped around each of your legs, and he placed a kiss along your left calf. His pace quickened slightly. 

You could tell he was starting to get close. Until finally, something seemed to snap in him. He was still thrusting in you, but much more slowly. He moved your legs off of his shoulders and leaned down to give you a quick kiss. He then slowly pulled out of you, and you moaned at the loss. 

He grabbed two tissues from his side table and cleaned you up. Then, he cleaned himself. When he was done, he tossed the two tissues into a basket and laid flat on the bed. He tugged you into his arms. You rested your head comfortably on his chest, and he gave you a quick peck on the top of your head. 

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

You were drawing circles on his skin with your index finger. “Honestly, really at peace. What about you?” 

“Pretty much the same.” You smiled. “Don’t forget to use the bathroom before you go to sleep so you don’t get a UTI.”

You giggled and sat up. “Who taught you that?” 

His lifted his hand to his chest and gave a playful scoff to feign offense. “I’m going to be a doctor.” You giggled again and laid back in his arms. 

He later let you borrow a pair of his boxer shorts and one of his old Nirvana t-shirts. The clothing looked bulky on you, but it was soft against your skin. You were just padding back softly to his room from the bathroom when you ran into Belly. 

“Oh, sorry!” you said. 

She glanced at your outfit and gave you a smile that didn’t seem to reach her eyes. “You’re okay!” 

When you crawled back into bed with Conrad, he insisted you sleep on the side further away from the door. He kissed your forehead again and ran his fingers through your hair as you rested your head on his chest. You went to sleep that night thinking about Conrad’s kisses and his warmth. 

***

You and your friend Adelaide — another Cousins Beach regular — had just finished an exhausting pilates class and decided to grab some coffee. You were blissfully sipping on your cold brew when Adelaide said, “I got the most random text from Conrad Fisher the other day.” 

Your ears immediately perked up. “Oh really? What did he say?” you asked, trying to keep your tone as level as possible. 

“He was asking me about you — what you like, your favorite places to grab a drink, stuff like that,” she said. She raised an eyebrow at you.

“Oh really?” 

“Y/N, you are so bad at hiding stuff. I can literally see it in your face. Are you guys seeing each other?” 

You started giggling. Because of course, Adelaide could pick that up. “All right, I ran to him on the beach the other day. One thing led to another and we basically told each other we like each other.” 

Adelaide squeezed your arm. “You realize you are living every girl in Cousins Beach’s dream right now?” You giggled. “I’m so happy for you. That’s so fricking cute. And I mean, from my conversation with him, it sounds like he’s planning something cute.” 

“He’s really sweet. They had a cookout at his house the other day, and he picked me up for it and everything.” 

“Was Belly there? I heard her and Jeremiah are getting married.” 

You shifted in your seat a little, casting your eyes down to your cold brew. “Oh yeah, she was there. But things seem pretty chill in between the two of them now.”

You wanted to get off the topic. If you were being completely honest, there were some things that made you question if the two of them were done with each other. You kept catching Belly sneaking glances over at the two of you. You didn’t think you saw Conrad doing the same thing, but it was clear he was keeping her somewhat at arms-length. Even Steven said there was still some unresolved feelings there, but you weren’t going to bring that up to Adelaide. You hadn’t even brought it up to Conrad.

“That whole situation is messy,” Adelaide said. “How are you feeling about it?” 

“It’s a little weird,” you admitted. “But it’s not something I’m actively worried about.”

Adelaide nodded her head. “I want you to know I’m so for you kissing Conrad Fisher. But also as your friend, I think you should just be careful. There’s a lot going on with that family right now that’s a little … strange.” She scrunched her face up. “God, I’m trying to imagine my little sister dating one of my ex-boyfriends.” 

You laughed. “I know, I know. I’m glad you’re there to look out for me. It’s still so early, so I don’t know how I feel about everything yet.” 

“I get that.” 

“But just out of curiosity … what kind of date spot was he leaning toward?” 

*** 

Conrad texted you later that afternoon, asking what your plans were for the rest of the week. After you replied, he asked: There’s a new spot that opened up kinda near the beach. Would you want to go? Maybe Thursday night?

You quickly replied. It’s a date. :) 

He promised to pick you up around 7 p.m., right before the sun was going to set. You were wearing a black linen mini dress and you had braided about three random sections of your hair. You were mulling over what shoes to wear when you heard the doorbell ring, and you immediately glanced over at your clock. He was right on time.

You quickly snatched a pair of platform sandals and ran down the stairs. Your dad was already talking to him by the time you made it to the door. He looked handsome in his usual outfit of a pair of chinos and a button-down, short sleeve shirt. The two of you also matched in your black dress and his black shirt. 

“Well, there she is,” your dad said. “Good to see you, Conrad. Tell your dad I said hi.” 

“I will. It was good to see you too, sir,” Conrad replied. His hands were in his pockets. He then flashed a smile at you. “Are you ready to go?” You nodded your head, and Conrad offered you a hand. When you were both in the car, he leaned in to give you a quick peck. “Sorry, I didn’t want to do that in front of your dad.” 

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” you said, gently squeezing his arm. “Besides, even if you did, I don’t think you could do any wrong in my dad’s eyes. He adores your family. He’s probably thrilled we’re hanging out.” 

The drive over was mostly small talk. You caught up on what happened over the past few days, which for him, mostly involved working on the house and surfing. You told him about some of the guests you had come into the coffee shop you spent your summers working at.

But after only about 15 minutes of a drive, he pulled into a parallel parking spot on one of the main strips right by the beach. “We have to walk a little, but it’s not going to be bad,” he said.

He held your hand as you walked toward the place Conrad decided on — a bar called the Waterline. You hadn’t been there yet, mostly because it was new and its cocktails were about $12-20 each. When you walked in, he told the host he had a reservation for two.

The host seated the two of you upstairs on the bar’s roof deck. You were seated at a corner table that overlooked the ocean. You immediately looped your foot around Conrad’s underneath the table. You hadn’t even gotten a chance to look at the menu when a waiter walked over with two waters, but Conrad had apparently come prepared. He breezily ordered a cocktail for you and for him. 

“I’m trying to guess what you like and I think I have it down,” he said. “If I’m wrong, I will buy you another drink.” 

“Deal, but only on the condition that you let me guess for you on the second round.” 

“Deal.” 

When the cocktails arrived, you took a small sip of the one Conrad ordered for you. It was a fruity drink, with a hint of a spritz in it – exactly your taste on a summer evening. 

“One point for Conrad,” you teased. He was trying to act discreet about it, but you could tell he was ecstatic.

When you were about halfway through your spritz, you finally got the courage to bring up something you originally wanted to ask him about at his cookout. 

“So, hey, I don’t know how to bring this up really, but I was talking to Belly for a bit last weekend. I had congratulated her on the engagement, just out of courtesy, and she started telling me more about the wedding. One of the things she mentioned to me is that you and Steven are going to be co-best men.” His face was blank as you were talking, and you started to get nervous that you were being out-of-pocket for bringing it up. In typical circumstances, you would never bring up an ex on a first proper date, but the circumstances were less than normal. “I guess I’m just wondering how you’re feeling about it, because when she told me, I was a little nervous for you. Like, I couldn’t imagine being in that situation.” 

Conrad looked away from you for a second, instead looking over the deck’s edge out at the ocean. There were a few beats of silence. He seemed to open his mouth for a second, but then hesitated and closed his mouth again. 

“Look we don’t have to talk about it-” you started. 

“No, no. It’s okay,” he said, looking back at you. “I think I’m just deciding on how much to share.” He rubbed his jaw for a bit. “Look, my mentality with this whole thing has just been to support them and go. Once this is all over, and it will be by the end of the summer, then I’ll go back to California. So, I’m just kind of pushing through with it.” 

“Do you feel hurt by it?” you asked. He shrugged. 

“I don’t know. I- I’m trying not to think too much about it. Just avoid it.” 

“Well, isn’t being the co-best man kind of the antithesis of avoiding it?” He frowned a little, and you realized you were taking it too far. “I’m sorry. I’m not-” You sighed. “I'm worried that you’re in a position that’s hurting you and not letting you relax. I’m not trying to condescend you or judge you or anything like that.” 

Conrad straightened up in his seat. “I know. Look, I’ll be happy when this is all done, and then it will be so out of sight that it won’t matter anymore. We have the bachelor party this weekend, so I just have to get through that. Then in like another week or so, we have the rehearsal dinner and the actual wedding.” 

“And then you leave,” you finished. He nodded his head. “So what does that mean in terms of what you want and what you’re looking for?” 

He looked at you. “I’m dating to find a partner. I don’t do the dating ‘just to hook up’ thing. And normally, I wouldn’t even start things with someone here, because I live so far away and I plan to go back.” He interlaced your fingers. “But I do like you. I always have. And I want to spend more time with you.” 

You lifted up his hand toward your lips and gave it a quick peck. “I want that too.”

After your second round and a little more laid back conversation, Conrad asked you if you’d like to go to another spot before you headed home. He held your hand to guide you to a dive bar down the block that was known for its live music. When you walked in, a random man – who was well into his 40s – exclaimed, “Fisher! Let me buy you guys a drink!” Conrad explained it was a friend of his dad’s that was a regular at the spot. 

“He’ll likely order us a beer or jack and coke,” Conrad explained. You gagged a little. 

The live band was playing songs from musicians you had talked to Conrad about earlier that week. The random man, whose name you learned was Thomas, passed you a cup filled with vodka redbull. Conrad was just given a Heiniken. 

“Apparently you are more upscale than I am,” Conrad joked to you. You offered him a sip of your drink, but he waved it off. “I have to drive, remember? But you should take it easy too. You’re such a tiny thing.” He ran one hand through your hair, and you giggled.

You leaned up to your tiptoes to give him another kiss. His hand rested on the low of your back to lean into it a little more. And after a few seconds, he grabbed one of your hand and said, “Let’s go toward the front.” 

He guided you through the crowd, keeping you immediately behind him. When he felt satisfied with your spot, he pulled you around to be in front of him and rested one of his hands on your waist, almost like a shield from the other bodies that were in the crowd.

You heard the familiar riff of the guitar that kicked off the song “Ocean Avenue” by Yellowcard. The beach bar bands always loved to play some early pop punk hits, and this is one of the particular favorites. You and Conrad both started singing the beginning of the song in a slightly nasally voice. He kept his hand on your hip the whole time as you danced along to the music. When the bridge came, you both started yelling the lyrics aggressively. 

Your ex would have told you that you were being obnoxious, but Conrad was acting the same way you were. When the song ended, he pulled you closer to his chest to give you a quick peck on your temple, and you gently squeezed at the arm that was wrapped around you. 

For a while you two just swayed and danced in the crowd. When someone came too close to you, he would move you slightly, either to shield you with his arm or body. After a few more songs, you both decided it was time to call it a night. It was electric being so close to Conrad. Even though you were singing along to the music, you were more focused on just what it felt like to be pressed up against him. 

As the two of you walked back to his car, you noticed an alley and tugged him into it. 

“What are you doing?” he said, chuckling a little. 

“Trust me.” 

You rested your back against the wall and tugged him by his shirt closer to you. Then you leaned up and kissed him. 

There was nothing chaste about it. You had wanted him since he first picked you up and dancing so close to him had riled you up more. His hands were resting on your waist as he kissed you back. He started trailing one hand down your thigh, before he started tugging up your leg to wrap around him. You gasped when you felt him press close to you.

He paused and met your eyes. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to be with you,” he whispered. “Since the beach, I haven’t stopped wanting to be around you the whole time.” 

“Me neither.” 

“Do you want to stay with me again tonight?” 

You hesitated. “I do, but I can’t. I have to open up the coffee shop tomorrow at 6 a.m.”

He shrugged. “I can drive you there.” 

“No, it’s just that if I stay at yours I know I won’t sleep because I’ll want to kiss you the whole time. And then I have to go home, shower and grab my clothes.”

“I have clothes and a shower.” At that, you both laughed. 

“But I want to wear my clothes.” You leaned up to give him a quick peck. “All right, Fisher, I have a proposition.” 

He kept his hands on your waist. “OK, I’m open to negotiating.” 

“How about instead of staying the night tonight, I stay the night tomorrow? I can meet you out once the bachelor party cools down a little more. I won’t have to get up early on Saturday morning to open up the shop.” 

“I could go for that.” 

“Yeah?” you grinned, wrapping your arms around his next. He gave you a peck in response. 

“My only demand is that you let me buy you breakfast the next morning too.” 

“Deal.” 

***

It was finally Saturday night. Conrad had texted you earlier and sent a loose itinerary of his night with the boys. When he texted you around 11 p.m. to ask to meet them at Growlers, a dive bar downtown. You put on a skirt and tank top, grabbed your purse, and left your house. 

“Mom, Dad, I’m going to meet Conrad!” you called out, as you ran down the stairs.

Growlers was more crowded than usual by the time you arrived. You weaved your way through the crowd, trying to spot Conrad’s tall, lanky figure. But before you could spot him, a drunk Jeremiah was barreling toward you. 

“Y/N!” he called out, hugging you and picking you up from the ground. “What are you doing here?” His breath smelled like whisky. Before you could answer, he then said, “Want a shot?” 

“Let’s get some water before we take another shot, Jer,” said Steven, who was carrying a cup of water and gently putting it in his hand. He gave you a quick head nod. “Hey, Y/N. Con is somewhere in the back. Redbird roped him into some bar game.” 

You gave Steven a quick thanks, but before you were about to head off, Jeremiah grabbed your arm again. “Wait, c’mon. Just one shot. It’s on me.” 

You scrunched your eyebrows. “Isn’t it your bachelor party?” You pointed at Steven. “Shouldn’t he be paying for you?” Steven gaped at you, with an incredulous look in his eyes. 

“He wants to take a shot with you. The round is on you, not me,” Steven said with a grin on his face. 

You were about to banter more, but then you saw Conrad start to walk over your way. His eyes lit up once he saw you. 

“Conrad, my big bro!” Jeremiah exclaimed, tripping a little on his way to give Conrad a hug.

“Hey Jer,” Conrad said, propping Jeremiah up a little. 

“Your girlfriend is here somewhere,” Jeremiah said. He looked around as if he was trying to search for you, even though you were right in front of him. Steven covered his face to try to contain his laughter. 

“Okay, Jeremiah, let’s chug this water and get you another one,” Steven said. He mouthed, “I got this,” to Conrad and started walking off with Jeremiah toward where the rest of the bachelor party was in the back of the bar. 

“Hey pretty girl,” Conrad said. He leaned in to give you a quick peck. He kept your hand on your waist. “Do you want anything to drink?”

He ordered a gin and tonic for you, but he was sticking to water. As you waited for your drink, you nudged him. “So how has it been? Jeremiah looks like he’s been having a good time.” 

Conrad chuckled. “He’s never been able to hold his liquor, especially after he got into college. He gets enabled too much by his fraternity brothers. But, eh, it’s been good. I mean, we pregamed at the house, and we went to two different bars before this. I think we’re starting to approach one of our last stops, unless Steven gets Jeremiah to pull it together.” 

“So any particular reason you’re taking it easy?” The bartender passed you your drink, and you took a sip. 

“Someone’s gotta look out for him.” You nodded your head, smirking a little bit. Conrad’s eyes widened and he started smiling. “Oh no, I know that look.” 

You feigned innocence. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” But then you turned to the bartender and ordered, “Two coffee shots please!” 

Before you could put down your card, Conrad placed $10 on the counter and thanked the bartender. “You’re a troublemaker, you know that right?” He raised his shot glass to clink it against yours and the two of you threw back the shot. 

You heard Jeremiah cheer from the distance and glanced over Conrad’s shoulder to see the younger Fisher brother pointing at the two of you. “Fuck yeah Connie!” he exclaimed. You and Conrad met each other’s eyes and started laughing. 

“C’mon, let’s go join the boys. And I’m expecting to see you let loose a little more tonight, Fisher. I’ve never gotten to see you out at the Cousins bar and I don’t want to be deprived of the full experience,” you said.

He playfully rolled his eyes. “Okay, okay. I’ll relax.”

As the night continued on, Jeremiah seemed to calm down a little bit after a few more drinks of water. Jeremiah insisted on going to another spot where you all could dance a little and have more Jagerbombs, and then turned to you and said, “We’re going to be doing a shot together, Y/N.” Steven decided to wander off for a bit to go meet up with someone, but promised he’d join the group again later. 

You had just arrived at the second bar when a song came on over the speakers that Jeremiah loved. He started swaying, and accidentally knocked some of his drink onto Conrad. He grimaced, but tried not to look too irritated with his younger sibling. Instead he just said, “Drink some more water Jer.” He went to the bathroom to clean up, while you were stuck with the group of boys. 

Redbird, one of Jeremiah’s fraternity brothers, ordered a round of lemon drop shots for everyone. One of his fraternity brothers lifted up his shot and said, “To Jerbear’s final night of freedom.” You all cheered. “You are never going to touch another person besides Belly ever again. How’s that feel?” 

“Feels fucking fantastic,” Jeremiah said. 

“C’mon boys,” Redbird said. “Well, and girl.” You and the group lifted your glasses to clink and threw back your shots.

“How could you have slept with one person throughout all of college?” one of his fraternity brothers asked. 

“Whoaaaa, Jer, you didn’t tell your boys about you and the iconic Lacie Barrone?” Redbird asked. “Jer and her hooked up in Cabo during spring break. You were away from Belly for like, what? Two seconds? And you were already hooking up with the hottest chick at Finch.” Jeremiah and his buddies laughed. 

You, though, were silent. From what you knew, Jeremiah and Belly had been together for four years. You felt like you were listening to a horror movie. Redbird didn’t seem to notice your discomfort, since he kept telling the story. “You locked us out of the room! I remember now. You locked us out and we were banging on the door. They couldn’t hear us. They were so into it. All I heard was, ‘Jeremiah, JeremiUH, JEREMIUHHH.’” 

Jeremiah, who somehow hadn’t done his shot yet, then laughed. He was stumbling a bit. “Yo, shut the fuck up.” 

“We had to sleep on the floor in the hallway,” Redbird continued. Jeremiah took his shot. “It actually sucked. My neck still hurts, I think.” 

Jeremiah then started gagging. He keeled over a little, then started booking it toward the bathroom. As he ran away, you spotted Conrad. 

He was sitting in the middle of the crowd, frozen. You could tell he heard the whole thing. You tried calling out his name, but he was already storming after his brother. You set the shot glass on the bar, then scurried toward the direction Conrad went. 

“Conrad,” you called out. You looked around the back of the bar and around the bathrooms, but he wasn’t in sight. You quickly grabbed your phone out of your purse and tried calling him, but he didn’t pick up. 

You then heard one of the bar’s back doors open and saw a head of hair that looked like Conrad’s. You ran in that direction, flinging the door open. You spotted his figure walking down the sidewalk, away from the bar. 

“Conrad!” you yelled, running after him. “CONRAD!” He spun around. You noticed his fists were clenched and there was a vein popping out of his neck. 

“Y/N, I’m sorry. I was going to text you. I just can’t be in there right now.”

“I know, I know. I don’t want to go in there either,” you said. “Are you okay?” 

He shook his head. “No, I- I’m fucking pissed. I thought he was better than that. I mean, I tried so hard to protect him from my dad and now he’s just like him.” He seemed to choke on his own words. “He’s my brother and I know I’m supposed to love him – and I do, I do – but I just fucking hate him right now.” You noticed tears were starting to well up in his eyes. You stood on your tiptoes and started to wipe some of them away with your finger tips. 

“It’s okay. It’s fucked, Conrad. It’s totally fucked. What they were saying was gross. It’s okay to be mad at him right now. That talk isn’t normal.” 

He then looked at you, really looked at you. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be so weird tonight. And I swear I was going to tell you I was outside, I don’t want you to think I was going to leave you.” His hand circled around your wrist, gently holding it as you continued to wipe some of his tears.

“I know that, Conrad. And it’s okay. I don’t think you’re being weird.” You squeezed his arm. “How about this? I’ll tell the guys we’re heading out. If they pry, I’ll just say I’m not feeling well and you’re taking me home. And we can either go on a walk, go somewhere else or actually go back to your house. Does that sound okay?” 

Conrad nodded his head. “Yeah, yeah.” He pulled you in and gave you a kiss on the forehead. “Thank you.” 

You did what you promised. Jeremiah was too drunk to really process what you were saying, and the rest of his fraternity brothers didn’t mind at all. You saw Redbird order another round of drinks on your way out. 

Conrad was leaning against the wall in the corner, his hands in his pockets. He looked lost as you walked up to him. You reached out your hand. “C’mon, there’s a place I know down the block.” 

You guided him to this quiet dive bar called the Taproom. It was small compared to the other bars in Cousins Beach, but it had nice cocktails for a dive and a reasonable crowd of townies who didn’t get too drunk. You both sat in bar seats, and you set your hand on his leg. He hadn’t said anything on your entire walk to the bar. 

Seth, the usual bartender on shift, came up to the two of you. “Hey Y/N, you want the usual?” 

You nodded your head. “Please. And one for him too.” 

The low synths of “All I Need” by Radiohead started pulsing over the bars speakers. There was a small group of townies playing pool, but for the most part, the bar was empty. The air smelled faintly of cigarette smoke, probably from Seth, who was known to regularly sneak out during his shift for a Marlboro red. 

Seth handed set two Ginger Smashes in front of you. You were about to hand him your card, but Conrad had already passed over his. You looked over at him and asked, “What are you thinking?”

He gave a light shrug. “I don’t even know anymore.” 

You frowned while eyeing him. He looked defeated as he slumped over his drink. It was worse than when you caught him on the beach. You didn’t know what to do or how to possibly take away his pain. He kept seeming to sink into himself more and more every minute. 

“It’s okay if you don’t know, I just-” You paused, mulling over what to say next. “It makes me sad seeing you like this. I hate that you’re in this situation in the first place, and it keeps seeming to get more complicated by the minute.” 

He seemed to tense up, then said quietly, “Well, you don’t have to be here if you don’t want to be.” 

“No, no. That’s not what I’m saying.” You squeezed his leg. “I want to be here. I’m saying it because I’m worried about you. I’m saying it because I care about you. And I’m worried that you keep getting the short end of the stick.” 

He looked up at you then and shook his head. “I’m sorry, I just got in my head for a second. I keep getting in my head.” He shifted his body to face you more directly. He paused again, and you could tell he was weighing his words. “A few years ago, when my mom was still alive, I was about to go downstairs to get a snack and I overheard my parents arguing. I’d never heard my mom yell really before. She never did that, even when we were kids. But she was angry. She was calling my dad a piece of shit, selfish, and almost every other insult imaginable. 

“I didn’t understand what it was about at first, and then I heard her almost break down. She- She said, ‘I was in chemo and you cheated on me with your fucking assistant.’ She was thinking about leaving him, because she told him that she didn’t want me or Jer to grow up and be like that. 

“She never knew I knew about it. We never talked about it when she was still alive, but I just hated my dad after that. I hated him for being so awful to my mom when she was going through the worst thing in her life. The worst thing in all of our lives. And he was just fucking his 20-year-old secretary. 

“I told myself I would never let myself and I would never let Jer be like that. And today, when I heard Redbird and Jeremiah’s frat bros joking about how he fucked this girl in Cabo, all I saw was my dad.” At this point, Conrad was starting to tear up again. You could see all the strain of all those years weighing on him. 

You rested your hand on his shoulder. For a minute, you didn’t know what to say. “Conrad … I’m so sorry.” 

That seemed to open up some sort of dam. More tears started streaking out of his eyes. It felt like you were watching him physically be 18-years-old again, struggling to understand how his dad could act in such a harmful way.

Conrad suddenly grabbed both of your hands. “Y/N, I don’t want to fuck things up with you, and I’m so scared that I’m going to. This- This whole thing with my family is so fucked.”

“I’m scared too,” you admitted. “But I want to try things with you. And for what it’s worth, I don’t think you’re anything like your dad. I think you’re selfless, kind and tender. And you have this warmth about you that I just always want to be around. It makes me feel safe. It makes me feel special. I don’t want to go anywhere, and I don’t want you to push me out either.” 

He gulped and nodded his head. “Please don’t run out on me.” 

“I promise I won’t.” You sat there in silence for a minute, just holding onto each other’s hands and looking at each other. Under the bar lighting, his eyes were slightly glimmering. 

“Hey guys, I hate to interrupt this special moment.” You both turned around and saw Steven raise his hands. “But uh, where the hell is everyone?” You and Conrad both broke out laughing. 

Conrad asked, “Steven, how did you even get here?” 

“I have your location, dude. And I saw you were out here so I thought everyone else was too. Wait, were you guys trying to sneak off and I just totally killed the moment?” 

“You didn’t,” you reassured him. “We just left because I was feeling a little overwhelmed and I needed a break.” You saw Conrad smile out of the corner of your eye. 

“What happened?” Steven asked. You flashed Conrad a look, and it looked like he was weighing on how to respond too. 

“Steven, you’re going to need to sit down. Seth, could we get another ginger smash?” 

Within seconds, Seth passed you another cocktail. You passed it to Steven, who was clearly confused by what was going on. “Why are you guys being so weird right now?” Steven asked. 

“Drink up,” you simply said. All three of you clinked your classes together, though Steven did so a little reluctantly. You and Conrad both took long sips. 

“Steven, there’s something I need to tell you,” Conrad said slowly. Steven just stared at the two of you, still sipping on his drink. “Jer cheated on Belly when he was in Cabo.” 

Steven looked at the two of you back and forth for a while. “Wait, are you fucking with me right now?” You shook your head.

“We found out tonight. Redbird started talking about it. That’s why we left,” you said. 

Steven was gaping. Seth, who was apparently listening to the whole interaction, handed you three shots of mezcal and quietly said, “Uh, this is on the house.” 

Suddenly, Steven exclaimed, “What the FUCK?” 

***

Conrad drove you and Steven back to the Fisher’s summer house after the three of you spent another hour at the Taproom, solely focused on listening to Steven as he processed the news. Conrad had offered Steven his mezcal shot and Ginger Smash, in part to keep himself sober enough to drive and since Steven looked like he was about to crash out any minute. 

Conrad pulled into the driveway, and the three of you walked into the house. Taylor was still downstairs, cleaning up a bit. 

“Where’s my sister?” Steven asked. 

“Hi to you too, Steven,” Taylor replied. Then she looked up and her face became more serious. “Wait, are you okay?” 

Steven nodded his head. “Yeah. Do you know where she is? Is she asleep?” Taylor shook her head. 

“No, she’s on the beach waiting for Jeremiah.” Steven gave a curt nod, then stormed off through the backdoor toward the shoreline. Taylor turned to you and Conrad again. She opened her mouth, probably about to ask more questions, when the front door flew open. 

“Bellyyyyy,” Jeremiah called, stumbling a little as he walked in. Redbird was trying to keep him propped up. 

“Shit, you’re shitfaced, Jer,” Taylor said. “You’re supposed to go meet Belly.” 

Redbird had cut in. “He needs to projectile vomit. Again.” The group of fraternity brothers dragged Jeremiah up the stairs toward the bathroom. You, Conrad and Taylor hadn’t moved an inch in the past 60 seconds. 

“Does anyone else feel like they walked into a hurricane just now? Or is that just me?” Taylor asked. 

In unison, both you and Conrad said, “Yup.” 

“Well, that’s nice at least.” She paused for a minute, placing her hand on her hip and cocking her hand. “Should I be worried?” 

And again in unison, you and Conrad said, “Probably.” 

Taylor huffed and tossed another White Claw into the trash. “You know what, let’s all deal with it in the morning. I feel like we’re the only sane people in this house right now, and we need to keep it that way.” 

The three of you walked upstairs. Jeremiah’s fraternity brothers had miraculously safely gotten Jeremiah in his room. Conrad checked to make sure he wasn’t laying on his back so he wouldn’t choke on his own vomit. Taylor headed to Belly’s room at the end of the hall. 

Conrad slowly creaked open the door to his own bedroom. He locked the door behind him the minute you were both in. Without speaking, you both undressed. He passed you one of his t-shirts to sleep in, and after putting it on, you crawled into his bed. 

You watched as he walked around his room to peer out his window. “Looks like Steven and Belly are still out there,” he said and turned back over to you. 

“Come cuddle,” you said, reaching your arms out toward him. Conrad chuckled and turned off the lights. He climbed into bed and wrapped his arms around you. “You did the right thing, you know, by telling Steven.” 

“You really think so?” he murmured. You nodded your head. 

“I think it’ll be good for her to hear it from him, if anything. He clearly has her best interests at heart.” You sat up. “What would you have done if Steven didn’t meet us there though?” 

He shrugged. “I don’t know. I really don’t. I mean, I’d find a way to tell her, but… I don’t know.” 

It was quiet for a few minutes. You thought of the way his face looked as he overheard the conversation and the way Belly kept glancing at him and you over the past few days. You thought again of what Steven said to you, over how it was difficult to get over first loves. 

“Do you think you still have any feelings for her?” you whispered. 

You felt the bed shift as Conrad also sat up. He turned on a lamp and looked at you. 

“Y/N, no,” he said. “That’s done now.” 

“It’s just-  I do see the way she looks at you sometimes, and I know the history. And I do get a little nervous.” 

He frowned. “What do you mean?” 

You bit your lip. “At the party, I noticed she kept glancing over at you while you were talking to me. Steven told me he thought you still had some unresolved feelings. I guess I just want to make sure there’s still room for me in there.” You placed your hand over his chest, right where his heart would be.

You dropped your hand down shortly after and started clasping your fingers together. 

“Hey, don’t shy away from me,” Conrad said. One of hands reached out to hold one of yours. You looked up at his crystal blue eyes. “I understand where you’re coming from, and I know this isn’t easy. But there is room for you, in here.” He lifted your hand up to touch his chest again, but this time, his hand was covering yours. “More than enough room.” 

“Really? You’re sure?” 

“I’m positive.” He paused for a moment. “Y/N, like I said at the bar, I really, really don’t want to fuck things up with you. I want you. I’ve always wanted you.” 

His eyes looked at you with such softness. You felt almost overwhelmed by the butterflies that were stirring in your stomach. Those were words you’d been begging to hear from a person for years, and now, you were hearing it from the boy you always dreamed of. 

This time, you were the one to ask. “Can I kiss you? Please?” 

“Yes,” he whispered. And you both leaned toward each other. He immediately tugged you by your hips closer to him, and you wrapped your arms around his neck. For a while, the two of you just kept kissing. You kept thinking of Conrad’s words in your head: I want you. I want you. I want you. 

“You know you taste a little like cherry right now?” he said. “It’s like cherry from your lip gloss and mint from brushing your teeth.” You giggled. 

“Is that bad?” 

He shook his head. “No, no, it’s perfect.” 

He leaned in and kissed you again, but this time he gently guided you to lay down on the bed. His head started kissing along your neck, as one of his hands cupped your breast. You left out a soft sigh and tangled your fingers in his hair. He grinned at you, nudging his shirt that you were wearing up. 

“You look good in my clothes,” he said, as he lightly squeezed one of your breasts. “I’m sure you already knew that. I can’t get enough of looking at you in my shirt. When I fuck you tonight, I want you to wear it. Can you do that?” You nodded your head and he grinned. “Good.” 

He started pressing kisses down your chest again, keeping his shirt rolled up above your boobs as he made his way toward your core. When he was there, he tugged your panties down your legs and checked them onto the floor. This time, he didn’t tease you. He just licked straight up your slit. You moaned at the feeling. He did two more sweeping movements with his tongue and then focused his attention on your clit. He suctioned his lips around your most sensitive spot and used his tongue to stimulate you even more. 

You were already overwhelmed by how good it felt. You were gasping at the feeling, and he used one of his arms to keep your hips pinned down so he could focus on eating you out. He briefly made eye contact with you from where he was at your core. He lifted up, smiling, as he said, “You get so wet. It’s so hot.” You gave a breathy laugh, but it was cut off as he started licking up your slit again. 

This time, when he started sucking on your clit, he inserted one finger inside you. You gripped at his hair as he pumped in and out of you. Within minutes, you were seeing stars on his bed. You heard Conrad say, “Good job, baby,” but you felt like you were on another planet. You felt almost floaty from the pleasure. He squeezed the hip he was holding down. “Come back to me baby. I’m not done with you yet.”

You propped yourself up on your elbows as Conrad started peeling off his shirt. He leaned down to kiss you again. You felt him squeeze your ass. He slid his boxer briefs off. 

“Wait-” you said, before he leaned back over you. “I want to take you in my mouth for a bit.” 

“Okay,” Conrad said, giving you a quick peck. He laid down across his bed and you got on top of him. 

You copied him a little bit – kissing down his chest toward his cock. You kissed right below his belly button, and then looked back up at him as you pressed a kiss on his tip. 

You started by slowly swirling your tongue around his tip and he groaned. You squeezed his thigh. And then slowly, you wrapped your lips around his cock and started to slowly bob along the tip. You couldn’t fit him entirely in your mouth, so you lifted your head up to give a quick lick of your hand. You stroked the end where your mouth couldn’t fit as you started moving up and down his cock.

You took him out of your mouth with a pop and kept stroking his cock. Instead, your mouth focused on taking one of his balls in your mouth. Conrad gathered your hair into a ponytail, encouraging you to take more of him in your mouth. 

You could feel his cock twitching and moved your mouth away from him. You didn’t want him to get off until he was inside you. He seemed to have the same thought, because he then said, “I want you to ride me. I need to look at you in my t-shirt more.” 

You giggled and straddled him. “If you’re sure.” His hands rested on your hips.

“I’m sure.” 

You lifted your hips up a little and grabbed his cock in your hand. You lined it up with your entrance and slowly sunk down. Conrad let out a heavy breath and squeezed your sides. You first rocked up and down, letting your clit grind against him for a minute. But then, you propped his hands on your chest and started riding his cock. 

Conrad’s hands moved to slightly nudge his t-shirt up your waist. “You look so beautiful,” he said. You couldn’t reply. You were too consumed by what it felt like to be lost in Conrad. He looked perfect beneath you. His hair was slightly pushed to the side in the way it used to be when you first met years ago. His cheeks were slightly flushed, and his lips looked a little swollen from the amount of kissing the two of you had done. 

His hands cupped around your thighs, and he started to help lift you as you rode him. You were panting a little and huffed out a breathy, “Conrad.” 

He then sat up, still cupping your thighs, but he was kissing you as you rode him. You wrapped your arms around his neck. “Is it okay if I come inside you?” 

“Yes,” you replied. He then nestled his head into the crook of your neck and started kissing along your collar bone. His grip tightened on your thighs, no longer lifting you, and you knew he was finishing as you kept gently riding him. 

You slowed down, smiling as you looked at him. “How was that?” 

He laughed, then kissed you gently. “You’re amazing.” You gently lifted yourself off of him, and he leaned back to grab a few tissues from his nightstand. He handed you a few. When you were done cleaning up, you slipped his boxer shorts back on. He kissed you again. 

“I’ll be right back,” you said. You stepped out to the hallway to use the bathroom. Right as you were about to walk into Conrad’s room, you saw Belly’s figure down the hall opening up the door to her own room, where Taylor was sleeping. 

You stepped back into Conrad’s room and gently closed the door. He smiled as you walked in. “Hey.” When you climbed back into the bed, he immediately wrapped his arms around you again. He gently kissed your temple. You fell asleep snuggled in his arms. 

***

The next morning, Conrad offered to take the two of you out for breakfast, since the house would be chaotic as more people were coming into town for the wedding. You both had been walking back into the house, coffees in hand when Jeremiah came barreling out. 

“Jer-” Conrad started to say, but Jeremiah had hopped into his Jeep and drove off – completely ignoring you both. You flashed Conrad a look. 

The house was quiet by the time you were back in. You heard someone crying up the stairs. Steven was in the kitchen, eating a poptart. 

“Hey man, what’s going on?” Conrad asked. 

“Wedding’s off,” Steven replied. “I think Belly and I are going to go back to Philly soon.” 

“Shit, really?” Conrad asked. 

“I talked to her on the beach last night,” Steven said. “I guess they talked more this morning and agreed to end it. I don’t know where Jer ran off to.”

“Shit.” 

You felt awkward standing in the kitchen. You looked over at Conrad. “Maybe I should head home. You should go find your brother.” 

“I can drive you home,” Steven offered. “I’m going to grab Belly some food, so I can just drop you off on the way.” 

You nodded your head and thanked Steven. Conrad gave you a hug and quick kiss. “I’ll find you later, okay?” he murmured.

When Steven and you were in the car, he asked you, “So what do you think of Conrad?” 

You smiled. “I really like him. He’s nice. I just don’t know how it’s going to work out once he goes to California.” 

Steven shrugged. “You guys have time for that. I mean, it sounds like he’s staying here for the rest of the summer. But, I think he really likes you. I mean, I haven’t seen Conrad open up to a person like that in years. He’s been happy while you guys hang out.” He looked over at you. “Honestly, I am begging you to stay with him. He’s an ass when he’s grumpy.” You started laughing. 

“We did talk about how he dates to date. Like he wants to have a partner.” 

Steven raised his eyebrows. “Yeah, I could tell the minute you walked with him into that pool party that Conrad wanted to be in a relationship with you.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“The hair thing? When he put his hand in your hair? I knew he was head over heels about you. Look, after today clears up, you guys should find each other again. He’ll want to see you after he talks to Jer.” 

***

You got a text from Conrad close to 7 p.m. that just read: Come outside. 

You looked out your window and saw Conrad in front of his Range Rover. He had hydrangeas in his hand and a smile on his face. You opened your window. 

“What are you doing here?” you called out to him.

He grinned and lifted the flowers. “C’mon!” 

“Where are we going?” 

“It’s a surprise!”

Within five minutes, you were running down your stairs. You put on a loose dress and ran out your door. You immediately ran toward Conrad. 

“Hey pretty girl,” he said. He scooped you up a little when you hugged him. He pressed a kiss on your lips, then on your forehead. 

“I can’t believe you’re here right now,” you said. He opened his passenger side door and helped you get in his car. When he got in the car, he kissed you again. “So where are you taking me, Conrad?”

“Well, I was kind of thinking we could go rollerskating for a bit and just chat. How does that sound?” 

You smiled and looked over at him. His hair looked like it was glowing in the sunlight. “That sounds perfect.” 

When you were inside the venue, he grabbed skates your size and helped you put them on. You giggled as you both stumbled a little onto the rink. He was holding your hand the whole time.

“When was the last time you did this?” you asked. 

“Honestly, I couldn’t tell you. Do you know when you did?” You shook your head, still giggling. “Well, we might both fumble at this.” 

You did a few laps around the rink. At one point, you fell onto the ground. Conrad was quick to pick you up and suggested you both take a break to eat. He put in an order for chicken tenders and curly fries, and bought you both Cokes. 

You tangled your legs with his under the table when he sat back down with food. You popped one of the curly fries in your mouth. “So, what was the rest of your day like?” 

He gave you a small smile. “You really want to talk about this?” 

“That was the most interesting thing I’ve seen unfold.” He laughed. 

“Well, I found Jer later. We talked for a bit. He’s going to head back to Boston probably tomorrow and try to pull himself together. I don’t know what’s going on with Belly. She and Steven left the house pretty quickly today after he dropped you off.” 

“What was the conversation with Jeremiah like?” 

“He thinks I intervened too much, so he’s a little mad at me.” Conrad shrugged. “But eh, I think it ended okay. He’s my brother. I want him to be happy. But this whole thing just wasn’t right. Anyway, I think it’ll be good for him to be in Boston for a bit and to clear his head.” 

“So, is it just going to be you in the house for the rest of the summer?” 

“Yeah, pretty much. I think Steven is probably going to come back for a bit before I go back to California, but that’ll be it.” He nudged you a little bit with his foot. “You could come anytime you want to, to the house.”

“Are you asking me to move in with you, Fisher?” you teased. 

He squeezed your hand. “Yeah, duh. Move in with me, get married this summer. We’ll do it all.” He took a sip of his Coke and studied you for a minute. “But seriously, I mean, the house will be empty. You can come over any time you want, if you just want to get away from your parents and want something quieter.”

You smiled at him. “Okay. But I need to ask you something before I start spending weeknights at your house. Where do you actually see this going?” 

“I mean, it’s still early, but-” You loved how his blue eyes were shimmering as he spoke to you. “I want to be with you. I feel like when I’m around you, I just feel this peace that I haven’t had in a long time. Even when I was running out of the bar last night, I knew I’d come find you again and be with you. And with everything that’s happened in the past few days, it’s just made me so much more sure that I want to move forward in my life. And I want to move forward just with you. So, I don’t know the exact logistics of how we do it, but I only have three more years of med school and then, you know, who knows where I move?” He reached across the table to hold your hand. “How does that sound to you?”

He looked so beautiful in front of you. You were already envisioning the next three years in your mind – all the visits you’d make to Stanford, all the walks you’d take with him in the Bay Area, and dinner dates. 

“So… do you do this a lot?”

“What do you mean?” You took a sip of your wine, trying to sate the erratic nerves jumping within the walls of your body. Not even a few drinks before you arrived to your date could save you. 

“Go on Tinder dates.” 

Harry, the man who effortlessly charmed you when your friends encouraged you to swipe right on him seemed as relaxed as ever. He had this calm and sensual aura about him that existed through every little thing he did. His smile, the way he thanked the waitress, the way he greeted you with a kiss on the cheek and guided you to the table with a hand on the small of your back. Everything. 

It was all a little too charming for your first date back in the game. Part of you even wished it would be a disaster. Then you reminded yourself that there had to be a first date. That you had to reclaim your desirability and get back into the dating scene to find yourself again. It had been three months after all, nearly four since your marriage blew up in your face and everything about your life changed. 

You felt like you were ready. Or at least willing to give it a crack.

“You seem a little nervous, that’s why I ask. I didn’t mean to offend you.” Harry spoke up again when you didn’t answer right away. 

“You didn’t offend me,” you assured, blushing at the way you got so caught up in the attraction of him, “but is it really that obvious?” You shook your head, laughing softly like the idea of actually being on a date was unfathomable. It was. To you anyway; especially given the fact that the man sitting in front of you wasn’t your husband. “This is my first date in… a while.”

“It’s not obvious.” Harry laughed softly, running his hand through his hair. “But it’s okay to be nervous. I’m nervous too.”

“You are?” Your eyes widened, “it’s not because I’m married, is it? Because I put it in my profile and-”

“It’s not because you’re married,” He assured, interrupting your clear panic. He found it quite adorable actually. “It’s because I like you and I think you’re beautiful. I wouldn’t be here if I thought otherwise.”

Oh. 

Harry didn’t want to overstep. He had only been chatting with you for a week before meeting in person, but he already liked you, at least from the few bits of information he learnt about you. And you were quite pretty, insanely pretty actually. Harry thought you were attractive from your profile, but seeing you in person only solidified that. It would take some serious differences between you two for him to not want to pursue things.

But this was a first date afterall and he wasn’t going to put pressure on something so fresh. You were clear before even meeting him that you weren’t looking for anything serious and Harry was happy with that. Whatever the outcome of this date, he at least wanted to make sure you had a good time. Even if it meant you two never saw each other again.

“Oh.” You felt your heart hammering in your chest at the compliment. Even his eye contact was making you a jittery mess. Harry made you nervous. Giddy even and you had barely known the man a week. “Thank you.”

Carson still complimented you, even still said he loved you, but nothing really felt the same after he wanted to open your marriage. It was like a wrecking ball to your life. Your heart broke instantly and your self esteem took the biggest hit you had ever experienced. Your own fucking husband asking to open your marriage after nearly three years of being married, six of being in a relationship. How were you supposed to take it?

He gave you those same reasons many guys give when they want to open a relationship; that you just didn’t fulfill his needs sexually anymore and that he needed more to be satisfied. You tried to explain that you’d be willing to explore his fantasies if he just communicated them, especially since he had been the one leading a very vanilla (but good) sex life since you two got married, but he didn’t like that idea. 

You came to the conclusion there was someone else. Carson denied it and told you he still loved you, but you couldn’t ignore the gut feeling that this was all some fucked up coverup to excuse cheating. So you said no. Safe to say that didn’t work out because a divorce ultimatum and three months later and you were here, trying to reap the benefits from an open relationship you were too reluctant to explore. 

Carson of course was happy to follow the rules you two set and be out nearly every damn night with someone, but you could never bring yourself to do it. You were still hung up on the hurt and pure embarassment you felt being forced to open a marriage you thought was happy. In the end you realised that you deserved the pleasure Carson was getting from someone else. You deserve to be desired and taken out on dates. It didn’t seem fair that only one person was benefitting.

“You’re welcome, love.” Harry smiled, “let’s just not put any pressure on it, okay? No expectations or anything. We’ll just get to know each other and see where the night takes us.”

You liked the sound of that. You liked the sound of him calling you ‘love’ even more. 

“Okay,” you nodded, “I like the idea of that.”

“Good.” Harry raised his wine glass in a toast and you couldn’t help but feel a little mesmerised by the sight of his ringed fingers wrapped around the glass. Shaking yourself out of it, you raised yours as well. “To us.” He offered.

“To us.”

The date with Harry went far better than you ever could’ve expected. He was sweet and charming and all the things that drew you to him via text were even better in person. You two had far more in common than you realised and even the things you didn’t only added so much interest to the conversation. He made you laugh harder than you had for months and was the perfect gentleman all night. 

You two didn’t sleep together, not that you went into this date wanting to sleep with him anyway because you weren’t really sure what to expect, but you came out of it hoping he’d offer to walk you up to your hotel door and maybe continue walking you right to your bed. Harry didn’t do that of course and instead offered you a kiss on your cheek and an invitation for dinner again next week, but that only made you want him more.

Leading up to the date was so overstimulating and so much all at once that you decided to book a room at the hotel in the same complex as your dinner (which he so kindly paid for), just so you’d have time in a clean environment to process your thoughts afterwards. 

Carson was out with his girlfriend April tonight, as that’s what she was to him now, so he wouldn’t be home anyway. But you didn’t want to be getting ready in your own room near the bed you and your husband shared, only to return to it after a date that could’ve been terrible. You wanted something just for you so no matter the outcome and no matter how you felt about it, you had somewhere free from any memories relating to your marriage.

When Harry offered the second date, you told him you’d think about it. He understood, took it like a great guy (the bare minimum, yes, but you were also expecting him to be too good to be true) then waited until you were in the closing doors of the elevator to say goodnight. It didn’t take long after you were clean and in the comfort of a fresh Carson-free bed that you texted Harry to let him know how much you enjoyed the date and that you would like to join him for dinner next week.

He was nice and handsome and you had a really good time with him. The thought of seeing him again made you giddy and you wanted to hang onto that feeling.

Harry: I’m glad it didn’t take you too long to think about it. I had a wonderful night. X

You were practically giggling as you read the text, feeling like a little girl dating a cute guy she liked for the very first time. It was exhilarating. Only one date in and you already understood the appeal Carson was talking about, as much as you wanted to disagree with him.

You: I’m glad. Goodnight Harry x

Harry: Goodnight, love. Sleep well x

//

“So what did you get up to last night?” Carson asked, “you have a nice night away?”

“I went on a date, actually.” Your back was facing towards him as you unpacked your overnight bag. Even though you couldn’t see him, you could practically feel the surprise radiating off him.

“Oh, really? With who?” Carson walked around until he was in your eyeline. He was trying not to act surprised, but you could see it even better with him in front of you that he was. His tone didn’t come off judgemental though and if it did you’d have a few things you could throw back at him. He couldn’t really say anything when you had remained silent on all his flings and relationships. 

“His name’s Harry. I met him on tinder.” You shrugged, being honest but trying not to appear too excited about the whole thing. Carson didn’t need to know you thought about Harry before you went to sleep, or that you spent a good half an hour on the phone with your friends squealing about your date with him.

“That’s great.” Carson’s reply seemed genuine and he held that kind smile that you fell in love with. “How was it? Did he treat you right?”

“It was really good, actually,” you paused your unpacking and looked at your husband, seeing the kindness in his eyes as he listened attentively to what you were saying. You wished he’d look like that all the time. “He was the perfect gentleman and we’re going on another date next week.”

“He must’ve really liked you then,” he teased. 

Carson was just joking and being quite civil about the entire thing, but you still felt that churning in your stomach. It would never feel normal talking about a date with someone else, even if it was your date instead of his now. 

“I guess so. It was only one date though.”

“Did you sleep together?” Then came the dreaded question. 

You both agreed that you had to disclose when you slept with another person and a condom always had to be used. No details had to be shared and it was preferred that there weren’t any, but for your own health and safety, you had to share it with each other. It only really mattered when you two were having sex with each other, which, with work and Carson’s busy schedule with other people, only happened once a month if that on your scheduled weekend together. 

Opening the marriage seemed to completely eradicate that part of your relationship and while you were unsatisfied, you couldn’t really find it in yourself to try and change that. Not with Carson at least. 

“No. You know I’d tell you if we did.” You didn’t really want to talk about it anymore, not when this conversation was ruining your once-happy mood.

“I know,” Carson replied softly, moving forward to place his hands on your hips. “I love you, you know that. I hope you find some joy in Harry, or whoever. Whatever makes you happy, y/n. That’s all I want for you.”

That felt like the biggest load of shit ever but you chose not to say that.

So you smiled and wrapped your arms around his neck, trying to remember when you used to do it and not feel a sense of dread. “I love you too.”

//

You went on a few dates with Harry. You tried to plan things around when Carson was busy so you wouldn’t be stuck at home thinking about what he was doing and that seemed to do the trick because you hadn’t thought about him once on any of the dates you had with Harry. 

Things had progressed to a goodbye kiss then a hello kiss when you decided to be a little brave and greet him with one when he picked you up one Saturday morning. And God Harry just knew how to kiss. Even a peck was delicious. His mouth was so soft and sweet and the way he held your face or your waist while kissing you made your entire body light on fire. The more time you spent with him, the more desperate you were becoming to sleep with him.

But Harry was such a gentleman. You didn’t want anything serious and he knew that and yet he hadn’t made the first move. Kissing you was as far as he got and when things started to get a little heated when you two said goodbye, it would always end far too prematurely for your liking. 

In your head, a lot of men just wanted to have sex and most of the time did anything and everything to get there before moving on once their post-nut clarity hit. That’s kind of what you expected from Harry. Someone so good-looking and out of your league could find sex easily so you assumed he’d be eager to sleep with you. That was part of the allure, wasn’t it? To sleep with a married woman? The nasty, scandalous thrill of being with someone that belonged to someone else.

Yet Harry never treated you like that, in fact, he didn’t even bring up your marriage unless you started the conversation. Harry just treated you like someone genuinely interested in getting to know you. 

“Can I ask you something?” 

It was only your third date. This conversation should’ve come up earlier, maybe even on one of the many text conversations or calls you had, but you were a little caught up in his charm and romance to think about it then and you wanted to see his reaction in person. In the very beginning you weren’t even sure if you’d be seeing him again but now that you were up to date three and he just never brought up the fact that you were married… well you wanted to know why. He knew your marriage was open but you didn’t quite understand why was he okay with it? There had to be a reason, right? 

“Of course you can.” He leaned back against the chair and tucked his elbow on the edge of the balcony you two were sitting at. It was a picturesque little cafe overlooking a river and it truly felt like you two were on some romantic holiday. The sun was gorgeous even despite the cold breeze and Harry looked effortlessly handsome. 

“Why do you… I don’t know how to put it.” You sat a bit straighter in your chair, fiddling with the rings on your fingers. Your wedding ring. You weren’t sure why you still wore it on your dates with Harry, but it was a habit and you were married. “You never bring up Carson or the fact that I’m married and I want to know why…”

“Why I don’t care?” He asked, finishing off your sentence. 

“Yeah…” You nodded, “I guess I just don’t get it. You’re a lot younger than me-”

“I’m 27 and it’s only five years.” He corrected, looking quite amused by your comment. Five years was a big gap when he was younger than you, at least you thought so. 

“Still.” You pressed, “You’re young and I’m married. I just don’t understand why you’re choosing to go out with me and not someone else. And the fact that you’re okay with my marriage it just… I don’t know.” You looked away for a moment, needing to break free from his eye contact so you weren’t completely swept up in it. “I’m not sure if I’d be the same. I’m not the same and I’m the one who’s married.”

“I’ve been married before…” 

Well, you certainly didn’t expect that.

“What?” Your eyes widened and Harry nearly laughed at how shocked you were.

“I was only 20 at the time and it was stupid to say the least but we were happy and in love and marriage seemed like the answer to all our problems.” He smiled at the memory, tracing his finger around the rim of his water glass as he thought back to that time in his life. 

“And it wasn’t?”

“No.” He chuckled, sighing while running a hand through his hair. “Marriage caused more problems than it was worth. Steph and I were broke and both in school. We could barely afford our degrees let alone rent and it just caused so many arguments. Too many arguments. We still loved each other and we made it work but over time… the love faded.” Harry shrugged. This felt like too intense of a conversation for breakfast, but you weren’t really expecting to find out about a marriage. 

“Wow…” You breathed. “I’m sorry. Um, how long were you two married?”

“Three years. We were just too young and going through too many changes. In the end, we were more like roommates than husband and wife. Didn’t have sex for the last six months because we were too busy working and emotionally disconnecting from each other.” He looked out to the water, turning back to finish off his point. “Anyway. What I’m trying to say is that shit happens. Relationships aren’t clear-cut. I can tell you’re not just trying to get some exciting thrill by cheating on your husband so as far as I’m concerned it’s just you and me.” Harry bumped his foot against yours under the table, smirking ever so slightly. “If that changes I’m sure you’ll let me know.”

Harry spoke about it in such a respectful way. You imagined it was far messier than he made it out to be, but he didn’t blame Steph or attack her character to make himself the good guy in all of it. It was refreshing and mature. Was it bad that him being married before only made him more attractive?

Maybe it was because you now knew that he understood you. 

“That’s a very… refreshing outlook, Harry.”

“Refreshing?” He chuckled, “No. Realistic.” He leaned forward and clasped his hands on the table, nudging your foot again. “And to answer your other question, the reason I’m out with you and not ‘somebody else’ is because I like you. I told you that on our very first date and I’ll say it again. I like you. Simple.”

“You act like things are so easy.” You laughed, blushing at his honesty. 

“They can be.” He reached for your hand, threading your fingers together before squeezing. “It feels easy with you.”

Yeah… it did. 

To make things worse… or better? his admission only made you more insatiable for him. Nothing he said was remotely casual, but it had also been a long time since you were dating. Aside from Carson, only one other man had touched you, so you didn’t really have a good gauge on navigating new beginnings or sex with a new person. You knew how to please a man but all your skills were honed in on one man. 

So when Harry offered to host dinner at his house for your next date, your stomach was a mixture of nerves and pure excitement. You hadn’t been there before, but with his invitation to stay the night, you didn’t really care what his place looked like, just that he had a nice clean bed to fuck you on. 

You never thought you’d be in this position, but you also never thought you’d be in an open marriage with a man you imagined building a family with. You didn’t see that happening now, but what you did see was you enjoying yourself and getting to explore another man for the first time in years.

Harry wouldn’t have just invited you to spend the night if he wasn’t interested in sleeping with you. He didn’t fit into the dump-and-run stereotype you created in your head, but he sure as hell wasn’t uninterested in sex. He practically oozed it from his fucking pores. 

“Y/n!” Harry beamed, opening the door with a big charming grin. He looked gorgeous and you were taken aback at just how good-looking he was. He told you to dress casually and while he matched the criteria with a pair of jeans and a loose white button-up, he looked anything but casual. 

“Hi,” you smiled, stepping inside. You barely made it into the doorway before he grabbed your overnight back from your shoulder, slung it on his and then cupped your face to bring you in for a kiss. You gasped a little into his mouth, humming when you relaxed into it and grabbed onto the sides of his mouth to reciprocate. 

It felt so young kissing like this; languid and passionately right in the open doorway of his house where anyone who drove or walked past could see. But you didn’t really care who saw when he was nudging you against the doorway and crowding you with his body. It wasn’t an innocent kiss that’s for sure. 

His mouth moved expertly against yours, tongue sliding against the seam of your mouth until it was brushing against yours. He grabbed onto your waist, pulling you flush against him until he was consuming every part of you. It was delirious the way he sucked on your tongue and groaned at the taste of your mouth. 

If this was setting the tone for the evening, you could barely wait. 

“Did you miss me or something?” You joked, breathing heavily as the kiss broke. 

He smiled, nodding while running his thumb over your mouth. He dragged his eyes over your body, taking in your nice fitting jeans and top with the most perfect amount of cleavage he could die. You were radiant. “Very much so.” 

God.

“Come in, love. It’s cold out.” Harry stepped out of the way properly this time, closing the door behind you while you looked around his entranceway. 

“Shoes off?”

“If you don’t mind.”

“Of course.” 

Harry walked you straight through to his living area. It was a warm, inviting home with soft lighting and lots of texture. He had a musical influence throughout but in the most tasteful way ever. Posters, vinyls and a gorgeous record player front and centre in his living room. His style was envying and you wished Carson would let you do even half the things Harry had done to his house. 

You could see yourself being very comfortable here. 

“Your house is gorgeous, Harry.” You complimented, looking around the space in awe. 

“Thank you.” He gushed, setting your bag down on one of his armchairs before walking into the kitchen. “I originally hired an interior designer then ended up picking all her opposite choices. I think I did an okay job.”

“I think so.” You agreed, following him to the island bench. The entire house was fragrant. It was a mixture of some citrusy candle, whatever delicious dish was in the oven and his cologne. It was intoxicating. “Ugh and it smells so good in here. What is that?” you practically moaned.

“Alfredo chicken pasta.” Harry mused, grabbing a bottle of red from his wine fridge. “I know you like it. Thought I should try and impress you for our first at home date.”

“So far it’s working. Just need to wait until it’s in my mouth for the final verdict.” You replied, pressing your hip to the bench while looking at him. “Can’t give you a raving review before I’ve tried it, can I?”

If Harry set the tone with the kiss, you set the tone with your words and those flirty eyes of yours. He pressed his tongue into his cheek, nearly audibly moaning at the double entendre. Harry had been holding back on how badly he wanted you since the first date. 

There was an instant fire between you. Chemistry he had been wanting to act upon for weeks. But he knew this was the first relationship for you since your husband suggested opening your marriage and he didn’t want to push things. You two spoke about it extensively after the third date when you wanted to clear the air to figure out what Harry got from this. 

Harry got pure pleasure. To him it was simple. He enjoyed your company and you seemed genuine in what you told him about your situation, so why wouldn’t he pursue things with you?

“You’re a smart woman.” Harry smirked, pouring the red wine into both wine glasses he had set on the bench before your arrival. “Actions speak louder than words, don’t they?” The way he looked at you nearly had you sweating. 

“It’s an age-old saying, after all.” You mused, thanking him once he passed you a glass. “To us?”

“To our first night together.” He clinked his glass against yours, eliciting a smile that had you trying to hide how nervous he truly made you feel. It had been a while since you got butterflies in the presence of a man. 

“Now, tell me all about your day. Must’ve been pretty relaxing if you had so much time to get all pretty for me.” He teased, reaching out to pluck at the hem of your shirt. 

“Yeah right.” You snorted, jumping straight into all the problems you encountered during your work day. 

Dinner went perfect as it usually did. You both laughed and drank and shared a delicious meal. By the time dessert came, Harry had moved from his chair opposite you to sit right beside you, deciding to play a game with the few mini dishes he made. He didn’t really explain why he chose to make multiple options, only that you had to guess what each one is. 

You weren’t really going to stop him from feeding you, were you? 

“Okay keep your eyes closed.” He prompted, walking over to the table with the long plate housing the mini desserts. 

“Okay! Okay they’re closed.” You shuffled in your chair, trying not to sneak a peek even if you wanted to. 

“Keep them closed.” He warned again, his arm brushing yours as he set the plate onto the table. 

“They are.” You defended. 

“How many fingers?” Harry sat right next to you, waving two fingers in front of your face. 

“Harry!”

“Okay.” He laughed. Harry grabbed one of the dessert spoons and took a small chunk from the first dessert before bringing it close to your face. “Any guesses?”

“Smells warm.” You guessed, breathing in the delicious cinnamon-or was it caramel? “Caramel?”

“Very good, Angel.” He praised, unintentionally making your breath hitch. That little bit of praise hit you right in the belly, making a swarm of butterflies flutter all over. “Open your mouth.”

Shit. If only he was asking you to open your mouth for something else. 

You did as instructed and widened your mouth, rubbing your palms up and down your thighs. He brought the spoon to your mouth, letting you suck it clean before removing it. “Do you have a guess?”

“Mmh.” You hummed softly, savoring the taste of the dessert you had on your first date. “Sticky date pudding?”

“Atta girl!” He cheered. “Well done.”

If he praised you one more time… god you almost felt pathetic at how turned on you were getting. And over food. 

“Can I open my eyes now?” You whispered, wanting to look at him. 

“Nope. Next one.” He took a spoon from the next dessert and repeated the same movements, holding it in front of your nose so you could smell it first. “What can you smell?”

“Custard maybe? Vanilla?” 

“Yeah… on the right track.” He mused, “open up.” Then once again he fed you the spoon. 

“Oh that’s so good.” You practically moaned, feeling his thumb brush against your mouth to wipe away a bit of custard. He sucked his thumb clean of it, watching you enjoy the dessert. Your moans of appreciation were hitting him harder than he thought they would but he just couldn’t help himself. You were moaning over something he made. He could only imagine what you’d sound like moaning over his cock or his mouth. “Is it… like a custard croissant cake or pudding? Whatever you call it.”

“You know your desserts. I’m impressed.”

“We had it on our second date, Harry.” And that’s when it clicked. “Are these desserts we’ve had on our dates?” 

“Maybe. Depends if you can guess the last one. Now open up pretty girl.” At his last instruction you opened your mouth and your eyes at the same time, looking right at him. “Heyy. That’s cheating.” He complained, feeding it to you. 

There was something erotic about the way you sucked that spoon clean, even going as far as plucking it from Harry’s fingers so you could get all the chocolate from it. “I knew it was chocolate pudding before you even fed it to me.” You whispered, looking down at the nicely plated dish. “Did you really make dishes we’ve had on our dates?”

“Maybe.” He repeated, scanning his eyes along your side profile. “Too much?”

No. Fuck, you were about ready to jump his bones. 

“No.” You shook your head and set the spoon down. “This is… this is really thoughtful. Thank you.”

It was romantic. Everything about this date was romantic. 

“You’re welcome.” Harry murmured, eyes flickering down to your mouth. A playful smile emerged on his mouth and you could just tell something was up. 

“What?” You chuckled. 

“You’ve got something here.” He reached out to cup your face, swiping your mouth clean like he did before. “See? Must’ve liked the chocolate pudding.” 

Before he had a chance to lick it clean himself, you grabbed his hand and brought his thumb to your mouth. His lips parted and his eyes darkened as he watched you wrap your lips around it, sucking on it gently. 

“It’s good…” you whispered, eyes fluttering when he cupped your jaw. The heat rising in the room was almost unbearable. Every second felt like an hour, every flick of his eyes between your own and your mouth like a century. The touch of his pinky grazing your neck had you shivering and all you wanted-no, craved was his mouth on yours. You bit your lip, releasing it with a pop before breathing out a soft laugh. “So are you going to kiss me or-”

You couldn’t say another word because Harry had already slid his hand back to thread through your hair and pulled you right in for a kiss. You whimpered as your lips met in a soft kiss. It started gently, but as the seconds went by and your hands ended up in his hair, it was getting hot and heavy. 

“Harry…” you sighed, breaking when you needed to breathe. 

“God I love kissing you.” He murmured, tipping your head back so he could kiss along your jaw towards your neck. 

“I…” you swallowed thickly while rubbing your hands down his neck towards his shirt buttons. You were desperate to see more of his skin. To feel more of it. “I want you.”

Harry paused, breathing heavily while pulling back to look at you. His lips were already swollen; all pink and yummy looking and his eyes had this dark look in them. It was a look you were sure you had given him countless times. When your heavy kisses got cut short or when you were forced to say goodnight when you really wanted to invite him in. You were sure you were giving it to him now. 

“I want you. Really fucking bad.” He admitted, reaching to push your hair back from your face. “I just don’t want to rush you, baby. I didn’t invite you over expecting anything and-shit.” Harry’s eyes widened as you bit the bullet and ripped your shirt off before putting it down on your lap. 

You were everything he imagined you’d be. No. You were better. Gorgeous in every way and in one of the prettiest bras he had ever seen. You could’ve worn anything though and he still would’ve thought that. But Jesus.  

“You’re not rushing me.” You whispered, “but I am wearing matching underwear so you can rush that if you want to…”

Harry swooped in again, holding your face in both hands to kiss you. “I want to.” He practically moaned, “but I’m not rushing anything with you. I’ve wanted to do this for a long time.”

“Good.” You smiled softly, sliding your palms over his chest before undoing the top button. “Good.” You barely whispered the word before kissing him again. 

Harry pulled you closer by your hips, nudging your shirt to the ground so your legs thread into each other. He ran his hands over your torso, your waist and your arms while you worked on unbuttoning his shirt. His skin was warm and soft and you were addicted to the feeling of his chest hairs against your hands. 

He undid your pants, draping the zipper down before making the executive decision to stand up and force you up as well with his hands on your hips. Your pants and top fell to the floor with ease and he was quick to push the dessert plate and cutlery out of the way so he could pick you up and set you on the edge of the table. 

He was obsessed with how your body felt in his hands and under his lips and he wanted to explore every inch of you. He let his mouth trail along your collarbones and neck, down to the clevage spilling from your bra. You were so soft and sweet, so plush in his hands. Harry never wanted this to end and it had barely started. He hadn’t even tasted you yet…

“You’re so goddamn beautiful, y/n.” Harry breathed, taking a moment to just look at you. He reached in to kiss you gently while massaging your thighs, sliding his fingers so close to the edge of your underwear without brushing them at all. “Can I touch you?” 

“Yes.” You nodded eagerly, fiddling with the hair at the nape of his neck. That was when you caught sight of the twinking diamond on your ring finger. The reminder that despite all verbal permission given by your husband as per your arrangement, you were still going to sleep with another man while married. “Can I ask a favour, though. Before we… do anything?”

“Of course.” He urged, eyes softening. “Anything. What is it?”

His gaze was so soft… so endearing. Harry showed more care for what you were saying than your husband did in the months he was off dating other people. Probably for months before that too. 

You breathed out heavily, heart thumping in your ears as you pulled your ring finger off and played with it in your hands. “Will you put this in your pocket? I don’t want it on for this. I just want it to be you and me.”

“I’ll keep it safe.” Harry promised, holding his palm flat for you to put the ring on. “Even if you wore it, it would still be you and me, y/n.” He assured, sliding the ring into the tiny pocket at the front of his jeans. 

“It wouldn’t.” You whispered, smiling softly while reaching forward to kiss him again. “It is now, though.”

Harry moaned into the kiss, pulling you closer to him so he had better access to you. Then he went back to just touching you. Caressing you. He palmed at your breasts and your thighs and your belly… everywhere he could. 

Carson knew how to make you cum, but Harry didn’t and that was almost better. He didn’t skip through to the end, to what he knew would work. No, Harry took his sweet time running his hands and his mouth over your body, trying to figure out what you liked best. He wanted to memorise the little jerks or squeezes of your thighs the prettiest soft whimpers if he touched you just so. 

Harry loved the first time he slept with someone knew. It was a new experience and an entirely new set of likes and dislikes for him to explore. And after you dressed up so nice for him and wore what would’ve had to be the sexiest lingerie he had ever seen, Harry couldn’t have been more excited. He had been waiting for this since the moment he met you face to face. 

“What do you like?” Harry breathed, smoothing his hands over your stomach up towards your breasts. They slipped under the cups of your bra to push it above your nipples so he could pinch them in both hands. “Tell me. Please.” He was almost desperate, needing to know how he could please you.

“I like what you’re doing now. I like…” You swallowed, whimpering ever so slightly when he pinched your right nipple a little harder, “I like when you look at me…”

“What else?” Harry murmured, keeping his eyes laced with yours as he dipped down to tug at your nipple with his teeth instead. He soothed the ache with his tongue; all hot and slick. All you could think about was his tongue being somewhere else. Getting head was a rare commodity in your house. Carson was quite decent at it, actually, but it was one of those things where it took forever for you to cum. You both worked demanding jobs so when you got time or needed release, it was usually something quick to get the job done. 

But god, you’d kill to be eaten out. 

“Fuck…” you gasped, running a hand through his soft hair. While you were nervous about sleeping with a new man, there was one thing marriage life did prepare you for; saying what you wanted. You had no problems telling Harry exactly what you liked. “I like dirty talk too. I like to be praised…” you had to pause when he sucked on your nipple again, releasing it with a pop that had you shivering when the air hit the wetness left behind by his tongue. “Degraded too…”

“Yeah?” Harry cocked his head, smirking like you just unlocked something evil in him. “Anything you don’t like to be called?”

“Stupid. I don’t like being called a bitch, either.” 

“Wouldn’t dream of it, pretty girl,” Harry assured, tucking his fingers into the waistband of your pretty underwear and sliding them side to side against your skin. Harry would’ve loved to get you completely bare for him, but there was something so sexy about fucking you while you were wearing the lingerie. You wore it for a reason, it would be a shame to let it lay on the floor for the entire night, especially when you looked so fucking good at it.  “Tell me more. I want to know what I can do to you.”

“It’s too easy if I give you all the answers, Harry. I’ll tell you if I don’t like something.” You teased, sitting up from the table so you could run your palms all over his chest and up to around his neck.

He was just glorious. All tanned and muscular with littered hairs that made him look so much more manly. You could only imagine what his pecs would look like all sweaty while he fucked you. You hoped he’d hover over your head so you could lick at his chest and tug at that sinful cross necklace between your teeth. 

“Can I tell you what I want to do?” He proposed, hooking one finger on the underside of your underwear this time, moving it towards your mound but not down enough to feel how wet you had grown for him. He was so close to dipping his fingers into your crease. So close to being able to please you. 

“Please…” You breathed, eager and so damn desperate for anything.

“I want to fuck you while you’re wearing this,” he snapped at the fabric, maintaining direct eye contact with you. Oh, Jesus. Between his eye contact and his sultry tone, you were going dizzy at how direct he was being. You loved it. “Then I want to strip you naked and watch you bounce on my cock. Forwards… backwards.” He groaned at the thought and grabbed onto your ass, firmly pulling you closer to the edge of the dining table until his lips brushed with yours. You could feel the hard length of his cock press against your pussy, promising you that it would be deep inside you by the end of the night.

“I want to make your ass red so when you go home to your husband, he’ll know I fucked you better than he ever could.” 

It was another promise, that Harry would indeed fuck you better than Carson ever could. 

“But first…” Harry bucked his hips against yours, keeping his grip on your hips tight so you couldn’t wiggle away at his directed grinds over your clit. He kissed you gingerly, watching your eyes haze over as you whimpered softly. Between his cock and his words, your head was spinning. “I need to taste you. I’ve thought about nothing else but having my face between your thighs for weeks now.”

Harry grabbed your hands from behind his neck and pressed them down to the table on either side of your hips, bumping his nose with yours. “Do you like the idea of any of that, darling?”

You nodded eagerly, loving the sound of all of it. “Uhuh. All of it…” you inhaled a sharp breath, loving the feeling of his hands moving to knead at your inner thighs, “There is one thing though. Something I want.”

“Tell me.” He murmured, eyes wide and eager. He just couldn’t keep his hands off you. He was grabbing your thighs and your hips, craving the warmth of your body. 

“I want your cock in my mouth. I’ve been thinking about that since our first date.”

Harry smirked and you could feel the way his cock jerked right against you. It was big. You wanted to choke on it. 

“That can be arranged.” 

He reached in to kiss you again, groaning like a starved man while wrapping his palm around the back of your neck to guide you back down against the table. When you were flat he stood back up and stripped his shirt off fully, leaving him completely shirtless. 

Then he did something unexpected. With a shit-eating grin on his face he pulled up the chair he kicked away earlier and sat on it, shuffling close to the table like he was getting ready to eat a three-course meal. You were going to make fun of him for it, but you didn’t really get a chance when he slung your legs over his shoulder and nuzzled his nose right into the crotch of your underwear. 

“Jesus.” He moaned, eyes fluttering closed. Your jaw went completely slack at what you were witnessing. Never had a man looked so fucking hungry to eat you out. He was practically delirious and all he had done was inhale how sweet you were. Harry was looking forward to having your scent all over him. “You smell so fucking good, y/n.” He looked up at you again, hooking the very tip of his finger into the crotch of your underwear and sliding it up and down along your crease. “But do you taste as good as you smell?”

You nearly whined like some pathetic puppy, but you had to keep that inside as you didn’t want to appear too eager. Too easy. Truthfully, you were easy though. Harry was able to turn you on easier and quicker than you ever thought. And all over a little dirty talk and a slight obsession with eating you out. 

“Why don’t you find out?” You hiked yourself up on your elbows, bringing your feet off his shoulders and onto the edge of the table so you were spread wider for him. 

“Oh I will,” he pulled your underwear to the side, breath hitching at the first sight of your bare pussy. “You’re so gorgeous, y/n. I’ve been looking forward to this for a long… long time.”

When his mouth finally grazed your clit, you fell back against the table. You couldn’t hold yourself up even if you wanted to, not when he started eating you out like a damn starved animal. Harry moaned like you were the best thing he ever tasted and touched everywhere. He wasn’t clit happy or labia happy and he certainly didn’t miss-interpret one part of your anatomy for another.

“Fuck Harry… oh God.” You whined, pulling at his hair with both hands before suddenly letting go because you hadn’t asked if you could. You didn’t even know if he liked it. “Do you-” You could barely breathe let alone talk. “Can I pull your hair? Is it okay?”

“God, yes. As hard as you want,” Harry moaned like the idea of his hair being pulled was orgasmic. “Don’t stop, y/n. I promise.” He grabbed your hand and guided it back to his hair, giving you a reassuring nod before going back to your clit. 

Harry knew exactly what he was doing. How to tease, how to take advantage of your entire body to make you feel good. He kissed and nipped over your thighs and used his hands to squeeze your breasts and play with your nipples. It was all so wet and sloppy and you felt like your entire body was on fire. 

“God you taste… shit-” Harry broke for air, spitting directly over your pussy then spreading it around with two fingers, “you taste so fucking good, y/n.” He used one of those wet fingers and slid it inside you, pumping it a few times while slurping against your clit again. “Never thought a pussy could be so sweet… ‘m addicted.” 

He slid his second finger in easily, fucking you with both digits so good your arousal was echoing around the room. His high ceilings did wonders of making sound travel. Even with all the rugs and soft furnishing, the softest moan sounded so much louder. And you were anything but soft. Your noises were loud and unforgiving and every single one of them was going straight to his cock.

It also meant you heard every groan Harry made. Every single sound of pleasure he was feeling just eating you out. It was possibly one of the sexiest things you had ever experienced. A man with his head buried between your thighs moaning and being so fucking enthusiastic because he gained genuine pleasure out of it. He liked it. Harry ate you out like it was his favourite thing on planet earth. 

“You okay? You good?” He checked in on you, looking up at your gaped mouth and thrown-back head. You only moaned in response so Harry reached for your hand and threaded your fingers, squeezing them to get your attention. “Hey. Look at me.” He nudged, not happy with your lack of response.

You forced yourself to look down at him, nearly shaking at how intense his eye contact was. His (now) three fingers were still steadily fucking into you, but he had taken a much-needed break from using his mouth to check on you. “Good?”

“Yes. So so good. So good.” You nodded eagerly, trying to guide his face back to you with the hand still in his hair. “Just-please. I need it.”

“You need it?” He grinned, cocking his head ever so slightly. “Is it that good, baby? Do I suck your pretty clit so good that you need it?”

“Yes... Oh yes...”

“I need it too.” He admitted, dipping back in to swirl his tongue around his fingers, right where your poor needy hole was dripping with arousal. “You just taste so fucking good, y/n. I’d have you on my face every night if I could.”

You seemed to like that idea because he could feel you clench around his fingers, knees bumping into each other so his face was wedged between your thighs. Your underwear were a complete mess too; all soaked and creamy. Harry wanted to wring them with his teeth and suck them dry, but with the real thing pressed right against his nose, he didn’t have to. 

“Bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you? Letting me eat your cunt every night? Every morning, even? Would you let me wake you up with my head between your thighs? Let me eat you for a midnight snack. Because I would.” Harry moaned as he wedged his mouth over your clit again, kissing and licking at it, spitting at it so it was even wetter. You were practically a sobbing mess above him too and that only encouraged him to say whatever he wanted.

“Y/n, I’d worship you and this pretty pussy.” 

He slid his fingers out just long enough to smack them against your clit. It was gentle at first and he quickly soothed the sharp sting with his tongue. But he felt the way you jerked around his head, how your hips lifted off the table to get more. 

“Is it okay?” He breathed, looking up for an answer. This time, you were already looking right at him. You had been from the moment he left your aching cunt empty and needy because you wanted to see what he’d do. And what a sight. You were sure you’d never forget the image of him smacking your clit then making out with it like a starved man. It was ridiculous. 

Harry Styles’ mouth would kill you one day. You knew it would. 

“More than okay.” You nodded, bringing your intertwined fingers up to your breast so his large hand would squeeze against your nipple. “Do it again.”

He followed your request quickly and spanked over your pussy again, this time a little harder and with more surface area of his fingers. You gasped out a moan, back lurching off the table as they hit your swollen clit. He quickly soothed the burn with his tongue, this time blowing on your sensitive skin for a moment before languidly tracing swirls over your clit.

“Again. Harder.” You gurgled out, clenching your fist into his hair when he smacked your clit again. Harder. He slid those three fingers right back into you again, curling and fucking them roughly right against your g-spot. “Oh God… Harry!”

“Oh, you’re such a good little slut letting me spank you like this. Right over your little clit too, hm? Who knew such a pretty girl would like such dirty things.”

The dirty talk… you were going to pass out.

“You’re taking it so well, y/n” He cooed, pulling his fingers out to spank you again before they returned deep into your pussy. It was dizzying. The way he spanked you then fucked you then spanked you again like some quick endless loop. He was careful not to hit you too many times, but whatever he was doing was making you reach your orgasm faster than any other oral you had received. 

“‘M gonna cum, Harry. Please just…” You pulled his face back to your clit, urging him closer with your hand.

Harry didn’t argue and did what you seemed to like the most; those three fingers stroking right against your g-spot, one hand on your breast and his mouth sucking right over your clit. It seemed to do the trick too because not even ten seconds later, you were practically lurching off the table while crying out his name through a squirting orgasm. Your hand cemented him to your pussy so he could happily collect as much of your release right in his mouth. 

When you started to calm down, Harry softened his movements and pulled his fingers out of you. He licked them clean then pressed soft kisses all over your thighs and mound, even right on either side of your clit.

“You’re such a good girl, darling. Did so well for me.” Harry praised, squeezing your hand and keeping his eyes on your face as you panted and looked up at the ceiling. 

“God that was…” You swallowed thickly, pushing your sweaty hair from your forehead so you could look down at him. 

“What?” He nudged, smirking while kissing your inner thigh. “Good? Is that the word you’re looking for?”

“Your ego’s too big for your own good.” You laughed softly, sitting up so you could guide his mouth to yours. Harry was still smiling into the kiss until he relaxed into it. That’s when it turned heated again. The taste of your pussy and his mouth; your mouth too… it was all too much. “But yeah…” you sighed, “it was good.”

He stood up from his chair so you weren’t hunched down to kiss him and the moment you had access to his jeans, you started working on undoing them. Harry hissed into the kiss when you applied pressure to his hard bulge and he had to break free just to breathe at how sensitive he was. His cock felt harder than ever before. He didn’t think he had ever been this turned on and sore in his entire life.

This chemistry with you… it was otherworldly. Supernatural almost. A compelling pull like his cells were trying to fuse with yours. 

And you were married. He had to push that thought out of his head because only a few weeks into this and he was already considering asking you to leave your husband. 

“I need you, baby.” He panted, grabbing your hips tightly as you pushed his jeans and boxers down his thighs to free his cock. “Shit-”

You wrapped your hand around his cock while he helped you get them off the rest of the way. You couldn’t help but look down between you, needing to see how pretty he was. And pretty he was. Long and decently thick, so heavy in your hand. You knew he’d fill you up so good he’d have you seeing stars. Two fingers were usually enough to prep you for sex, sometimes even one depending on how turned on you were.

You were glad he chose three.

“Your cock is so pretty, Harry.” You complimented, squeezing your palm around him. Your eyes filtered between your working hand and his face, obsessed with how hooded his eyes became just from your hand. “So big too… I need you inside me. ‘M so empty.”

Harry didn’t quite realise when you said you liked dirty talk that you liked it both ways, but he rather enjoyed the filth spilling from your mouth. He found it cute that you could barely string words together when he was pleasuring you, but like this? It was the biggest fucking turn-on.

“Bend me over the table…” You begged softly, nipping at his jaw until you reached the shell of his ear. His cock was oozing precum down over your hand. He liked what you were saying. “Please. Make me squirt again…”

“Come here.”

Harry pulled you off the table and with a rough hand, spun you around to bend you over the table. You squealed as he spanked your ass without thought, spreading your cheeks wide to spit down over you. He planned to fulfil his promise of fucking you with this lingerie on and now that he was looking at your pretty holes bent over with the tiny string of lace tucked to the side… he couldn’t have been more excited.

“You’re just so hot, y/n.” Harry groaned, spanking your other cheek just to watch your ass jiggle. “So goddamn hot.”

“I’m hotter with a cock in me.” 

Your mouth earned you another spank, this time directly over your sensitive cunt. You squealed and jumped in place, but Harry easily soothed the ache with a friendly grind of his cock against your clit. Your knees buckled at the direct stimulation but Harry made sure you kept still by pressing his hand to your lower back.

“I need to get a condom,” he murmured to himself, suddenly remembering the dreaded protection right when his cock was so close to being inside you. 

“Hurry.” You gasped, forehead pressed to the table. 

“I will. I will.”

Harry fished the condom from his jeans pocket, placed there earlier in the evening in hopes of sleeping with you tonight. It was a just-in-case for something spur of the moment, though he didn’t start the night plotting a way to get you in his bed. He was glad now that he put that condom in there just in case, especially when you were waiting for him. 

Once the condom was on, he was right back in position. A hand on the small of your back and the other guiding the head of his cock to your entrance. Harry didn’t wait or tease, he just pressed right into you slowly and deliberately. 

“Shit-”

“Oh goddd…”

Your curses echoed at the same time, both as desperate as each other. Harry just stretched you so perfectly, on the cusp of too much and the best type of full possible. It helped that you were so damn wet, so turned on that he was easily able to push inside you. 

“God, baby. You're so tight.” Harry hissed, reaching forward to press a kiss to the middle of your back. You couldn’t even respond to his compliment when your body was still getting accustomed to a new man. A new cock. All you could do was moan and claw at the table, clenching around him. “Hey. You okay?” Harry checked, sweeping your hair back so he could see your face.

“Uhuh. Just… shit.” You whimpered, squeezing around him again. He cursed at how tight you were and collected your hair in a loose hold around his fist. 

“Y’sure?” He mused, pressing a kiss right in between your shoulder blades. “You’re trembling beneath me, darling.”

“Fuck me.” You begged. He was so deep in your belly and it was torturous having him so far inside you and not moving at all. “Please Harry just-”

He didn’t need to be convinced any further. Not with how sweet you sounded and how wet you were around him. You were a fucking dream and that only became more apparent as Harry started thrusting into you. He started with a slow but steady grind, fucking you with hard pressure like he was trying to memorise every inch of your pussy. 

“God baby. You feel so good.” Harry moaned, building up the speed with a good grip on your hips. He hooked his thumb into the small lace string of your underwear, pulling it to the side so he could watch his cock disappear into your wet cunt. And you were so wet. Your arousal coating his length and turning creamy the longer he fucked you. It was obscene. 

Mostly though, he was watching your face. Your cheek pressed to the table, mouth gaped open and eyes screwed shut as you moaned the-fuck the prettiest noises he had ever heard. He had barely shown you his best tricks and you were a mess beneath him. Had your husband really been lacking this entire time? Been leaving you so unsatisfied that a bit of doggy had you unravelling? 

He couldn’t bear the thought of you having to take care of yourself because your husband couldn’t do it for you. But maybe that was a good thing. Because then Harry would be there for you. He’d give you pleasure you had never experienced in your life. Over and over again. 

Starting with tonight. 

“Feel good baby?” Harry cooed, spanking your ass with a rough touch. 

“Yeah” 

“Yeah?” He repeated, spanking you again on the opposite side. Your whine echoed around the room, as did the sound of the dining table squeaking forward against Harry’s nice floorboards. “Say it, baby. Tell me how I’m doing, hm?”

“So good. God, you fuck me so good.” You moaned, “please- go… go harder. Harder.”

Harry picked up the pace, reaching to wrap your hair around his fist so he could pull your head back. “Moan for me, y/n. Moan my name.” He demanded right in your ear, spanking you twice on the same cheek. 

“Harry.” You cried out, feeling him smile in satisfaction at how pretty you took the pain. So he spanked you again and again as you moaned loudly into the air. 

“That’s it… Good girl. You’re taking it so well…” Harry gritted out, spanking your ass roughly while tightening his hand in your hair. You whined at the sting of your scalp, nearly sobbing at how fast and hard he was fucking into you. “S’like you were made for me, y/n. Just made for my fucking cock.”

He was fucking you so hard, so fucking good that the table kept etching forward and forward. Harry had to keep readjusting his footing and his grip on your hair. He combed his fingers through your hair and wrapped it around his fist, tugging hard when the table slipped forward again. 

But he was persistent and he wasn’t going to let anything stop him from giving you the fucking you deserved. 

“Y’sounds so damn pretty moaning my name, baby. Fucking love how sweet you sound.” 

His words elicited a moan; a filthy pretty moan only exaggerated when he tugged your hair harder. “You’re so big. So good.” You cried, “loveyourcock.”

You were addicted to the way he fucked you, even just the way he felt stretching you out but keeping completely still. It felt like you could almost reach an orgasm just like this with no clit stimulation at all which never happened. Nowadays it was your vibrator or nothing and now here you were one orgasm down and another so damn close. 

Still, you needed your clit touched and you couldn’t really reach it this way. 

The table etched forward once more and right as he pulled back to thrust into you again, the table slid forward making him slip out completely. He effortlessly slid himself back into you to continue, but when it happened a second then a third time you couldn’t help but giggle. Even through the deep pleasure and hazy mind, it was funny. 

“Fuck.” He cursed when his cock bumped against your ass cheek instead of where he actually wanted to be. He tapped it against your clit before grinding there, watching you squirm and let out a choked gasp through your light laugh. 

“I think we may need to switch rooms.” You giggled, looking over your shoulder at him while panting as you desperately tried to catch your breath. He had let go of your hair for a moment, planning on trying to continue until you suggested moving things elsewhere.

Truth be told, Harry jerked one out before you came. He didn’t plan the evening around having sex with you and would’ve been okay if nothing happened at all, but his cock couldn’t control itself around you. Just your presence and your scent could get him hard in no time so he tried to fuck the frustration out before you even got there.

He was glad he did so too because now that he was in the middle of feeling your sweet sweet cunt, he had a lot more stamina going onto his second orgasm. He could have you riding him through two more orgasms before needing to cum himself and fuck did he want to experience you squirting right on his dick. 

“I think so.” He breathed through a laugh and ran his hand through his hair, “c’mere.”

“Mh.” You agreed, standing up on shaky legs and sore hips. Harry grabbed you straight away and helped you turn around to face him. He cupped your face with one hand to guide your mouth to his, deepening it effortlessly while tucking his hands under your thighs so you could jump up and wrap your legs around him. 

You were slightly shaky in his arms, sensitive as he placed you gently on the floor in front of his bed. He broke the kiss to look at you for a moment, panting heavily while brushing his nose against yours. There was something about the look in his eyes that had you crumbling inside. They were soft and almost loving; so full of yearning and desire that you were almost scared to look back. It was overwhelming.

Harry danced his fingers down your neck and shoulder to your arm where the strap of your bra had fallen. Every touch was making you shiver and only causing that ache between your thighs to grow. You felt empty. Cold without his cock inside you. 

“Take this off. I want to see you.” Harry murmured, searching your eyes while waiting for you to nod before he kissed you once more and climbed onto his bed. He shuffled backwards until he was against his headboard, legs wide and cock hard and waiting for you to climb back onto him. 

He never stopped looking at you. Never stopped watching even as he wrapped his own hand around his cock and gave himself a few tugs to the sight of your body becoming bare for him. The prettiest of prettiest lingerie on planet Earth couldn’t compare to the sight of a womans naked body. Your bare, naked body. The soft peaks of your breasts and the way they fell naturally without a bra. The dip of your hips and tummy without the confides of lace. It was glorious. 

Harry could barely contain himself.

“You’re a vision.” Harry awed, jaw clenching like he was trying to control himself from dragging you onto the bed and pinning you down.