𝙫𝙞𝙘𝙩𝙤𝙧𝙞𝙖 𝜗ৎ

eddie woke up to the sunlight spilling through the window, a slow gold that slid across the floorboards and crept up the rumpled sheets. he yawned softly, shifting to find a more comfortable angle, and the movement stirred you from sleep—a low, sleepy hum escaping your throat before you even knew you'd made it.

his eyes fluttered open at the sound. the haze of sleep cleared just enough for him to register that you were here, in his bed, your face half-buried in his pillow. something in his chest pulled taut.

“mm. morning," he murmured, his voice rough and low.

"good morning," you mumbled back, not opening your eyes. you nuzzled deeper into the pillow, your breath slow and even.

he watched you for a long moment—longer than he meant to. his gaze traced the curve of your cheek, the way your lashes fanned against your skin, the soft rise and fall of your breathing. the morning light caught the edges of your face, highlighting every small feature he already thought was beautiful, and he felt something warm bloom low in his chest.

he caught himself and cleared his throat.

“so," he said, quiet, "we didn't finish the movie."

you nodded, eyes still closed. "mhm. i knocked out on the couch."

you said it with a hint of sheepishness that made him chuckle. "i know. i tried to be quiet when i snuck away."

a lazy grin spread across his face even though you didn’t see it, boyish and unguarded in the soft light.

"wow. so careless of you," you teased, your voice still thick with sleep. "not even bothering to carry me over to your bed like a gentleman."

he scoffed, but the grin didn't fade—it softened, turned almost tender, even though you couldn't see it. "why?" he asked, voice dropping to something quieter. "why should i have to be a gentleman? it’s my room."

"cause i’m a girl, dumbass. it’s like an unspoken rule."

a sleepy smile tugged at your lips, and the sight of it made his heart stutter. he covered it with a laugh.

"oh, right. 'cause you're too dainty and delicate to sleep on the worn-out couch in my living room, huh?"

his hand found your hair, fingers threading through the mess of it, ruffling gently. you finally opened your eyes, swatting at his hand with a giggle.

“careful. i know jiu-jitsu, y’know.”

eddie’s eyes went wide, a slow grin spreading across his face as the memory surfaced. “oh, shit. yeah—you’ve been taking classes, right? you told me you’d show me some moves.”

you blinked, the haze of sleep parting just enough for confusion to settle in. “oh my god, really? i said that?”

“yeah.” he propped himself up on one elbow, looking down at you with that lopsided smirk that always made your stomach flip. “you said you’d show me your bjj.”

you stared at him. “my what?”

“your bjj,” he repeated, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “your brazilian jiu-jitsu.”

a beat of silence, and then you relaxed, a laugh bubbling out of you. “oh. guess i did.” you stretched your arms above your head, the movement pulling your spaghetti strap tank top up just slightly. “i bet i could show you some moves right now.”

eddie’s eyebrows shot up, amusement flickering in his dark eyes. “right now? in the morning? before breakfast?”

“what’s the matter, eds?” you tilted your head, voice dropping into something teasing and sweet. “too chicken?”

he scoffed, pushing himself upright, the challenge landing exactly where you aimed it. “i’m not chicken. i’m just saying—you’re in my bed, in my room, and you wanna grapple with me first thing in the morning?”

“scared i’ll pin you?” you shot back, sitting up slowly, the sheet pooling around your waist.

his grin turned sharp, playful, his gaze dragging over you in a way that was half challenge, half something else entirely. “sweetheart, i’d like to see you try.”

“so it’s an invitation?”

“it’s a warning.” he leaned in, close enough that you could smell the sleep on his skin, his voice dropping to a murmur. “i don’t go easy on people who threaten me in my own bed.”

your heart stuttered, but you held his gaze, a smile curving your lips. “good. i’d be offended if you did.”

the second the words left your mouth, eddie lunged.

you let out a surprised yelp as he crashed into you, the both of you tumbling back onto the mattress in a tangle of limbs and laughter. the sheets twisted beneath you, and his weight pressed you into the pillows for half a second before you squirmed, hooked a leg around his, and rolled.

he hit the mattress with a grunt, the breath punched out of him. "shit—"

"too slow, eds," you breathed, already scrambling to pin his wrist to the bed.

but eddie was wiry and quick. he twisted beneath you, his hip bucking up hard enough to throw off your balance, and suddenly you were the one on your back again, his knee wedged between your thighs, his hands catching your wrists and pressing them into the pillow on either side of your head.

"who’s slow now, huh?" his voice was rough, his chest heaving against yours. a strand of his hair fell loose, brushing your cheek.

you bucked, trying to throw him off, but he had you pinned good. your breath came fast, a laugh hitching in your throat. "beginner’s luck."

"beginner's—" he laughed, breathless and disbelieving. "nah, this is just talent."

"talent my ass." you twisted your hips, and he made a small, strangled sound as your thigh pressed up between his legs. his grip on your wrists loosened just enough. you shoved, and he went rolling sideways, the two of you grappling across the rumpled sheets in a mess of grunts and half-stifled curses.

"fuck—" he grabbed for your waist, but you were already moving, swinging a leg over his torso and dropping your weight onto his chest. the air left him in a sharp oof.

"gotcha."

he bucked beneath you, strong and stubborn, his hands finding your hips, fingers digging in as he tried to unseat you. "not yet, you don't."

"eddie." you pressed down harder, your thighs squeezing his ribs. his back arched, muscles straining, and you could feel every shift of him beneath you, the heat of his body seeping through the thin fabric of his shirt. "just tap out."

"no."

you grinned, shifting your weight, and his breath stuttered as you bore down, one hand pinning his wrist to the mattress, the other pressing against his chest. "come on, say it."

“n-no, it's not happening."

he twisted again, and you almost lost your grip, your core tightening with the effort of holding him down. your hair fell forward, curtaining both your faces, and for a moment, all you could see were his eyes, dark and glittering and fixed on yours.

"tap," you said, softer now, but no less certain.

he held your gaze. his chest heaved. and then, slowly, his fingers curled against the mattress, and he tapped twice against the sheet.

a triumphant laugh broke out of you. "yes! yes." you flopped forward, your forehead dropping to his sternum, your body still shaking with the exertion. "i told you. i told you."

"okay, okay." his voice was strained, breathless, but there was a smile in it. his chest rose and fell beneath your cheek, his heart hammering hard and fast. "that was... that was pretty good."

"pretty good?" you lifted your head, propping your chin on his chest. "i destroyed you."

"you got lucky."

"i got good."

he snorted, but his hand came up, brushing a strand of hair from your face. his touch lingered, just a beat too long. "alright, hotshot. rematch."

you raised an eyebrow. "you sure you can handle another round? i’d hate to embarrass you twice in one morning."

"embarrass me?" he laughed, sitting up beneath you, and you had to scramble to keep your balance as he shifted. "i'm just warming up, sweetheart."

"mhm." you slid off him, settling onto your knees on the mattress, already rolling your shoulders. "so, same rules?"

"same rules." he mirrored you, his hands coming up in a loose guard, that familiar smirk tugging at his lips. "but this time, i’m not going easy on you."

"aw, you went easy on me?"

"i went gentle. i could’ve—"

you lunged.

but this time, he was ready. he caught your wrist, pivoted, and for a second, you thought he had you. but you dropped your weight, twisted, and wrapped your legs around his torso in a move that had him grunting in surprise.

"what the—"

you locked your ankles, your thighs squeezing tight around his neck, and suddenly he was trapped, his face pressed against the inside of your thigh, his body bent at an awkward angle as you rolled onto your back, pulling him with you.

"it’s triangle choke," you said, voice strained with effort.

his response was muffled. something between a laugh and a groan.

you tightened your legs. his hand came up, slapping weakly at your thigh. once. twice.

"tap?" you asked, breathless.

he tapped again, harder this time, and you loosened your hold, letting him pull his head free. he collapsed beside you, chest heaving, a hand pressed to his face.

"holy shit."

you grinned, rolling onto your side to face him. "see? i’m pretty good.”

he let out a breathless laugh, still catching his wind. "you didn't tell me you could do that."

"figured i’d keep it as a surprise."

he turned his head, looking at you with those big, dark eyes, his cheeks flushed, his hair a wild mess. "well, it definitely worked. that was... i didn't see that coming."

"most people don't." you propped yourself up on one elbow, feeling warm and pleased and a little smug. "you okay down there?"

"define okay." he shifted, clearing his throat, and you noticed the way his gaze dropped to your thighs for half a second before snapping back up. "i think i need a minute."

"from one round?"

"from that round." he sat up slowly, running a hand through his tangled hair. "you’ve been holding out on me."

"i told you i’d show you some moves."

"yeah, but i thought you meant, like... a wristlock or something. not..." he gestured vaguely at his own neck. "not getting put in a headlock by your legs."

you laughed, bright and genuine. "you liked it."

he swallowed. "i didn't say that."

"well, you didn't not say it."

he opened his mouth. closed it. looked away, a grin tugging stubbornly at the corner of his lips. "alright, fine. maybe i liked it. a little."

"just a little?"

he looked back at you, and there was something unguarded in his expression, something that made your stomach flip. "maybe more than a little."

you held his gaze for a long moment, searching his eyes for something you weren't sure you'd find. that look in his eyes was still there, and it made your chest feel tight, so you looked away first.

there was something tense in the air, thick and unsaid. you cleared your throat.

"well, either way, you haven't pinned me down." you tried for teasing, but your voice came out a little quieter than you'd intended.

eddie scoffed, and you could hear the grin in his voice. "that’s 'cause I wasn't trying. if i did try, i would've pinned you down a long time ago."

you rolled your eyes, shaking your head. "yeah, right. you told me you weren't gonna go easy."

"i was joking," he clarified, and there was an edge of sincerity now. "if i did, i’d probably hurt you."

you snorted, not buying it for a second. "sure, eddie."

"don’t 'sure, eddie' me."

"then don't be so full of shit."

“oh, shut up.” he laughed.

“make me.”

so he did.

you two tumbled back onto the mattress, arms tangling, breath coming fast. there just the sound of your ragged breathing, the rustle of sheets, soft curses slipping out as you fought for leverage. his knee dug into the mattress beside your hip. your hand slipped against his forearm, both of you slightly slick with sweat.

then he had you.

he flipped you onto your stomach and pressed his weight down, chest against your back, the side of your face squished into the pillow. his breath was hot against your ear, ragged, triumphant.

"not so tough now, huh?" he was panting. "told you i’d pin you down."

you squirmed, thrashing beneath him, trying to find an angle, a gap, anything. but the movement dragged your ass back against him through his jeans, and he felt that unmistakable pressure.

his breath hitched. "hey—stop."

"i’m trying to get out," you shot back, still writhing.

"then—fuck—try a different way."

you didn't listen. you kept moving, kept twisting, until you heard it—a soft, low groan he couldn't quite swallow.

you froze.

then it clicked.

you went still for a second, letting the realization settle warm in your chest. and then you didn't stop. you moved again, slower this time, more deliberate—rolling your hips back against him with intention.

"jesus," eddie breathed, his voice cracking. his forehead dropped against the back of your shoulder. "you’re gonna kill me."

you didn't let up. you kept moving, slow and lazy, dragging your hips back against him like you were still searching for an escape. your voice came out sweet, breathless, edged with false concern.

"what’s wrong?" you murmured against the pillow. "getting tired, eds?"

he was quiet for a moment, just breathing—shallow, uneven, his chest heaving against your back.

"n-no," he stammered, and you felt his fingers twitch where they gripped your wrist. "i’m not tired. i can—" a sharp inhale as you rolled your hips again. "i can do this all day."

you hummed, a soft, pleased sound. "mm. if you say so."

you shifted beneath him, pretending to search for leverage, but you angled your hips deliberately this time—grinding back against him in a slow, torturous arc. his pelvis met yours, and you felt him through the denim, hot and hard and straining.

his breath stuttered.

"fuck—" it was barely a whisper, punched out of him before he could stop it.

you kept going. kept squirming. kept rolling your hips like you had no idea what you were doing, like this was just part of the game. and he let you. he didn't pull away. didn’t tighten his hold to stop you. he just stayed there, taking it, his breathing growing rougher by the second.

another soft groan escaped him, low and involuntary, vibrating against your spine.

"having fun up there?" you asked, your voice syrupy sweet.

he didn't answer. his jaw was clenched so tight you could almost hear his teeth grinding.

you moved again—slower this time, dragging your hips back in a languid, deliberate roll, letting him feel every inch of the friction. his breath caught. his whole body went rigid.

"okay." his voice was strained, hoarse. "okay, what the fuck kind of strategy is this?"

you blinked, all innocence. "i don't know what you're talking about."

"bullshit." but there was no heat in it. his voice had gone soft, almost wondering. "you know exactly what you're doing."

you turned your head slightly, just enough to catch the edge of his expression from the corner of your eye. his face was close—so close you could feel the warmth radiating off his skin. his brow was furrowed, his lips slightly parted. he looked wrecked.

your stomach flipped.

"i’m just trying to get out," you said, but even you didn't believe it anymore.

eddie’s jaw clenched. he stared down at you, and for a long, heavy moment, he didn't move. didn’t speak.

his mind was racing.

the two of you had always been touching, teasing, pushing boundaries until they blurred. he’d bite your shoulder just to hear you yelp, and you'd retaliate by stealing his shirts and refusing to give them back. sometimes he'd lick your face when you were being annoying, and you'd shove him into walls, laughing. it was easy. it was fun.

but this?

this was different.

he’d been in love with you for so long he couldn't remember when it started. it had crept up on him slow, like sunrise—imperceptible until suddenly everything was golden and warm and he couldn't look away. he’d watched you laugh, watched you get frustrated, watched you fall asleep on his couch with your mouth hanging open. he’d memorized the sound of your footsteps, the way you said his name, the way your hand felt small in his when you weren't paying attention.

and now you were beneath him, grinding against him like you were trying to undo him, and you didn't even know. you were just playing. just trying to win some stupid game.

but for him, this was everything he'd never let himself have.

he swallowed hard.

"you think i give a shit?" his voice came out low, rough, but underneath it—soft. vulnerable in a way he rarely let himself sound. "i don't care if you're trying to get me to tap." his breath hitched as you shifted again. "it’s not—fuck—it's not gonna work."

he held himself still above you, every muscle coiled tight, his forehead nearly pressed to the back of your head.

"i can do this all day," he repeated, but the words came out broken, like he was trying to convince himself more than you.

you should have stopped. you knew you should have stopped. the game had changed, shifted into something heavier, something that made your skin prickle with awareness. but his voice—that soft, rough edge to it—sent a thrill through you that you couldn't name.

so you didn't stop.

you rolled your hips again, slow and deep, and you heard him choke on a breath above you.

"eds," you whispered, and there was no teasing in it now—just curiosity, just heat. "you sure you're okay?"

he let out a breathless laugh, shaky and raw.

"no," he said, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. "i’m really, really not."

the sound of his voice—that broken, breathless confession—settled somewhere deep in your chest, warm and electric. it made you bold. made you reckless.

you moved again.

harder this time. slower, deeper, rolling your hips back against him with deliberate pressure, no longer pretending to search for escape. your body pressed flush against his, the friction sending a shock of heat through your veins. you felt him twitch against you, felt the sharp intake of breath that followed, and something dark and hungry unfurled in your stomach.

a low groan rumbled from his chest. it was guttural, involuntary, the kind of sound that seemed to surprise even him. his forehead dropped to the back of your head, his breath hot and uneven against your hair.

"oh, fuck," he breathed, the words barely audible, more air than sound.

you didn't stop.

you rolled your hips again, slower this time, letting the movement drag out until you could feel every inch of the contact. the denim of his jeans was rough against the thin fabric of your shorts, and the friction was maddening—not enough, never enough, but enough to make your pulse hammer in your throat.

his hands were still on your wrists, but his grip had gone slack. he wasn't holding you anymore. he was just... there. braces above you, trembling, his whole body taut as a drawn bowstring.

another roll of your hips. slower. harder.

his breath stuttered. a soft, broken sound escaped his lips—half groan, half whimper—and it sent a jolt straight through you. you felt it in your chest, in your stomach, in the space between your thighs. your skin flushed hot, your own breathing growing shallow.

you hadn't expected this. hadn’t expected him to sound like that. hadn’t expected the way it would make you feel—powerful, yeah, but also desperate. hungry in a way you didn't have words for.

you arched your back slightly, pressing your hips more firmly against him, and the sound he made in response was almost too much. a strained, shuddering exhale that turned into a low, guttural moan. his hips twitched involuntarily, pressing back against you, and you felt the hard length of him through the layers of fabric.

he was losing control.

you could feel it in the way his breathing had gone ragged, in the way his body shuddered against yours, in the way his fingers curled weakly around your wrists like he was holding on to the last shred of his composure.

you moved again—a slow, grinding circle of your hips that made his breath catch and then release in a shaky, desperate groan.

"jesus christ," he whispered, the word cracking at the edges. his voice was wrecked. hoarse. barely recognizable.

your body responded before your mind could catch up. a soft, breathy sound escaped your lips, and you felt your cheeks flush with heat. you were getting wet. you could feel it—a slick, growing warmth between your thighs that made the friction of your movements even more maddening.

you wanted more.

you shifted your hips, angling yourself differently, and when you rolled back against him this time, the pressure was perfect. the seam of your shorts pressed against you just right, and a small gasp escaped your lips.

eddie heard it.

his whole body went still for a moment, and then he let out a sound that was almost wounded—a low, desperate groan that vibrated through his chest and into your back. his hips moved against yours, grinding back in a slow, instinctual rhythm, and the feeling of him moving with you sent a shudder through your entire body.

your breath came faster now. your skin was hot, flushed, sensitive to every brush of fabric, every shift of his weight above you. you could feel the heat of his body radiating against your back, could smell the faint, familiar scent of him—cigarette smoke and worn leather and something warmer underneath.

his mouth found the curve of your shoulder.

it was tentative at first, just the brush of his lips against your skin, featherlight. but then you rolled your hips again, and his breath hitched, and his lips parted. his mouth pressed open against your shoulder, hot and wet, and you felt the faint graze of his teeth.

a shiver ran through you.

he did it again—his lips dragging across your skin, his breath hot and uneven. his hips moved with yours now, matching your rhythm, grinding against you in a slow, torturous push and pull that made your head spin.

his breathing was loud in your ear, ragged and uneven, punctuated by soft, helpless sounds that he couldn't seem to suppress. a groan here. a shuddering exhale there. a whispered curse that dissolved into a moan as you pressed back against him harder.

you were both moving now. no pretense. no game. just the slow, grinding rhythm of your bodies, the heat building between you, the sounds of his breathing filling the quiet room.

his hand moved.

it happened slowly—his fingers loosening around your wrist, sliding down your arm, trailing across your skin with a featherlight touch that made you shiver. his palm came to rest on your hip, his fingers curling against the curve of your waist.

he didn't pull you. didn’t guide you. he just... held you. like he needed something to hold onto.

his thumb traced a slow, absent circle against your hip bone, and the tenderness of the gesture, in the midst of all this heat, made your breath catch.

he pressed his forehead to the back of your head again, his breathing ragged, his body shuddering against yours.

"fuck," he breathed again, the word barely audible, wrecked and raw and reverent all at once.

you rolled your hips in response, slow and deep, and felt his whole body tense. his fingers dug into your hip, his breath caught in his throat, and a low, shuddering moan escaped him—longer than the others, more desperate, more broken.

he was completely lost in you.

and the sound of it—the feeling of him falling apart against you—was turning you on more than you had ever expected.

the shift in rhythm was subtle at first—a slight increase in the roll of your hips, a little more pressure as you ground back against him. but eddie felt it immediately. his breath stuttered, a soft, strangled sound catching in his throat.

you did it again. faster this time. harder.

his hips jerked in response, meeting your movements with a desperate, uncoordinated thrust. his hands found your hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh, holding on like you were the only thing keeping him tethered to earth.

"god," he breathed, the word barely a whisper, lost in the space between your bodies.

you moved faster. harder. the rhythm of your hips grew urgent, driven by something primal and hungry that coiled low in your stomach. the friction was maddening—rough denim and thin cotton, the heat of his body searing through the layers, the sound of his ragged breathing filling the room.

his eyes were shut.

you could feel it in the way his body moved against yours—blind, instinctual, lost. his brow was pressed to the back of your head, his lips parted, his breath hot and uneven against your scalp. his mind was blank. empty of everything except the feeling of you moving against him.

god, she feels so good.

the thought surfaced and drowned in the heat flooding his senses. he couldn't think. couldn’t form words. all he could do was feel—the slow, torturous grind of your hips, the soft sounds you made, the way your body fit against his like it was made for him.

he had imagined this before. late at night, alone in his van, when his mind wandered to places it shouldn't. he had pictured your hands on him, your mouth, your body pressed against his. but he had never let himself believe it could actually happen. you were too good for him. too bright. too far out of his reach.

but you were here. moving against him. making him feel things he didn't have words for.

and he was in love with you.

the thought hit him like a freight train, sharp and undeniable, and it made everything worse. made the ache deeper. made the heat in his blood burn hotter. because it wasn't just physical—it had never been just physical. every roll of your hips, every soft sound you made, every brush of your skin against his—it all meant something more to him.

his breathing grew ragged. shallow. his chest heaved against your back, and a low, desperate groan escaped his lips—louder than before, raw and unguarded.

your hips moved faster, grinding harder, and he felt himself losing the last thread of control.

“fuck," he gasped, the word cracking. "fuck, sweetheart—"

his hips bucked against you, chasing the friction, chasing the heat. his fingers dug into your hips hard enough to bruise, and he couldn't bring himself to care. all he could think about was you. the way you felt. the way you moved. the way you were unraveling him piece by piece.

i’m gonna—

the thought came too late.

his body tensed. his breath caught. and then it hit him—a wave of heat that crashed through him without warning, pulling a loud, broken moan from his lips. his hips jerked against you once, twice, as he spilled into his jeans, the release sudden and overwhelming and completely beyond his control.

he gasped. panted. his body shuddered through the aftershocks, his forehead pressed hard against the back of your head, his hands trembling against your hips.

for a long moment, neither of you moved.

the only sound was his ragged breathing, loud in the quiet room, slowly evening out as the haze began to clear.

then his lips found your shoulder again.

soft, open-mouthed kisses, warm and trembling, trailing across your skin. he wasn't thinking. he was just... feeling. trying to ground himself. trying to remember how to breathe. his lips pressed against the curve of your shoulder, the slope of your neck, slow and reverent, like he was memorizing the taste of your skin.

but then you moved.

in a flash, you twisted beneath him, your body rolling with sudden, fluid grace. he barely had time to register the shift before you were on top of him, your knees bracketing his hips, your hands pressing his shoulders down against the mattress.

he stared up at you, wide-eyed, chest still heaving. a beat of silence. then a low, breathless laugh escaped his lips.

"you’re kidding me," he said, his voice still wrecked, still rough around the edges.

you pressed down harder, and he groaned—a soft, defeated sound that melted into another laugh.

"fine. fine." he raised his hands, palms open, and tapped twice against the mattress. "i tap. you win. congratulations, you defeated me, you little shit."

a grin spread across your face, bright and victorious. but there was a glint in your eyes. a question.

"did you just... come in your pants?"

his face flushed red.

he let his head fall back against the pillow, one hand dragging down his face.

"jesus christ," he muttered, his voice muffled behind his palm.

you raised an eyebrow, waiting.

he groaned. long and dramatic and full of self-pity. then he let his hand drop, staring up at the ceiling like he was praying for the floor to swallow him whole.

"yeah," he said, the word clipped and frustrated. "yeah, i did. i fucking came in my pants. you happy now?"

a laugh bubbled out of you—bright and genuine, not mocking, but warm. surprised.

"i didn't even do that much," you said, your voice teasing, but soft.

eddie’s eyes finally met yours. there was something in them—something raw and unguarded, something that made your laughter fade at the edges.

"yeah," he said quietly. "you did."

the words hung in the air between you, heavier than they should have been. he meant more than he was saying. you could feel it in the way his gaze held yours, in the way his chest was still rising and falling too fast, in the way his hands had come to rest on your thighs—not pushing, not pulling. just... holding.

but you laughed it off, shaking your head, rolling your eyes with playful affection.

"guess i’m just that good."

the grin returned to his face, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. he was still looking at you like you were something he couldn't quite believe was real.

"yeah," he said again, softer this time. "i guess you are."

eddie’s eyes searched yours.

he told himself he was just looking. that he was just waiting for your next move, reading your body language, trying to figure out what you were going to do next. that’s all it was. just strategy.

but it wasn't.

he was looking for something else. some flicker of warmth, some crack in the playful facade that would tell him you felt even a fraction of what he felt. some sign that this meant more to you than just a game. some hint that you saw him—not just eddie the freak, not just eddie the dealer, not just eddie the guy who was convenient and willing and pressed against you in the morning.

but there was nothing.

your eyes were bright with mischief, sparkling with the thrill of the chase, the satisfaction of winning. there was heat there, sure—a lazy, satisfied kind of desire that told him you were enjoying this. but it was surface-level. fun. a game you were playing because you could, because he was letting you, because it was easy and exciting and meant nothing the next day.

something in his chest cracked, just a little.

he looked away.

the ceiling was suddenly very interesting. water stains. a crack running from the corner to the light fixture. he focused on that instead of the weight of you on his hips, the warmth of your thighs bracketing his waist, the way his heart was pounding in his throat.

"wasn’t fair though," he said, forcing his voice into something lighter, something that sounded like him. "you grinding your ass up against me like that. pretty sure it's cheating."

you rolled your eyes, and he could feel the movement, could feel the shift of your weight as you adjusted above him. "i still won. plus you weren't really in a rush to stop me."

he snorted. "yeah, well. i was being polite. didn’t wanna hurt your feelings."

"uh huh. very chivalrous of you."

"i am a gentleman."

"you came in your pants."

"gentleman," he repeated, louder, and you laughed.

the sound did something to him. made the crack in his chest spread a little wider. he wanted to bottle it. keep it. listen to it on repeat in the lonely hours of the night when he was alone in his van, staring at the ceiling, wondering what the hell he was doing with his life.

but he didn't say that. he just grinned, letting the banter carry him, letting it be enough.

"rematch," you said, and before he could respond, you were moving.

this time, you were faster. smarter. you caught him off guard, your body twisting with practiced ease, and suddenly your legs were around his head again, your thighs pressing against his ears, and he was trapped.

"jesus christ—"

he struggled, but half-heartedly. his hands came up to grip your thighs, but he wasn't pushing. he was holding. his breath was warm against the inside of your leg, and he could feel the heat of you through your shorts, could smell the faint scent of your skin, could feel the way your body settled against his with comfortable familiarity.

but you didn't stop there.

you shifted. adjusted. your hips lowered, and suddenly you were positioned differently—not just holding him, but using him. your weight settled lower, and he felt the damp spot there, still cooling, still embarrassing.

your mouth found it.

"oh, fuckkk—"

he groaned, loud and broken, his hips bucking up instinctively as your lips pressed against the wet denim. the fabric was rough against your mouth, but beneath it, he was sensitive, aching, still trembling from the aftershocks of his release.

"fuck, this again?" he gasped, his voice muffled between your thighs.

you paused, just barely. your lips ghosted over the damp spot, and he could feel your smile against the denim.

"want me to stop?"

he knew what you were doing. you were giving him an out. a chance to say no, to retreat, to save whatever shred of dignity he had left.

but he didn't want an out.

he wanted you.

“no," he said, the word coming out rough and desperate. "don’t—don't stop."

your hands found the button of his jeans. the zipper. the sound of it lowering was loud in the quiet room, and eddie’s breath caught in his throat. he stared up at the ceiling, at the water stains, at the crack in the corner, and tried to remember how to breathe.

you pulled the denim open. his boxers were visible now—dark blue, damp in the center, clinging to him. he was half-hard again, stirred by the friction, by the heat of your mouth through the fabric, by the sheer overwhelming reality of you.

your tongue touched him through the cotton.

he moaned—a sound he couldn't control, couldn't hold back, couldn't disguise. it was raw and desperate and full of everything he was trying not to feel.

his hands found your thighs again, gripping tight, and he squeezed his eyes shut.

don’t feel this. don’t feel this. don’t feel this.

but he did.

he felt everything.

the wet heat of your mouth through the thin fabric. the slow, deliberate drag of your tongue along his length. the way you explored him like he was something to be savored, something to be learned. the way your breath ghosted over him between licks, cooling the spots where your mouth had been. you were basically cleaning up his release.

his chest rose and fell in uneven rhythms, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. his hands trembled against your thighs, and he couldn't tell if he was trying to push you away or pull you closer.

"f-fuck," he stammered, his voice cracking. "do whatever you want to me. i’m still not gonna t-tap again."

you laughed against him—a soft, warm sound that vibrated through the cotton and made his hips jerk.

"we’ll see about that," you murmured. “you’re pretty easy to manipulate.”

eddie groaned softly as you licked him again. “s-shit, can you just put it in your mouth already?”

you hummed against him. “that’s not something a gentleman would say, eds.”

“i don’t care,” he panted. “just… please. just put my cock in your pretty mouth, please. instead of just… eating the come while you clean me off.”

you paused, a small smile forming at your lips. “you think my mouth’s pretty?”

he swallowed hard, realizing he had to be careful with his words if he was gonna keep this up.

“y-yeah. i think you’re pretty,” he failed immediately. “whatever. come on, just suck my—“

and then your fingers hooked into the waistband of his boxers.

he lifted his hips without thinking, helping you, letting you. the fabric slid down, and then he was exposed—hard and aching and damp with his own want. the air was cool against his skin, but your mouth was warm, and when you kissed him there—soft, almost tender—he thought he might die.

"fuck," he breathed, the word barely a whisper.

you kissed him again. slower this time. your lips pressed against the head of his cock, gentle and deliberate, like you had all the time in the world. like you wanted to memorize the shape of him, the taste of him, the way he gasped and trembled beneath you.

and then your tongue.

a slow, flat stroke from base to tip, and his whole body arched. a desperate, broken sound tore from his throat, and his fingers dug into your thighs hard enough to leave marks.

you gave him more.

your mouth closed around him, warm and wet and perfect, and he felt his mind go blank. there was nothing but you—the feel of your lips, the stroke of your tongue, the way your throat relaxed to take him deeper. his hands slid from your thighs to your hair, fingers threading through the strands, not pulling, just... holding.

he was panting. moaning. muttering your name like a prayer, like a plea, like a confession.

"god, you—" his voice broke. "you feel so good.”

suddenly an idea popped into eddie’s head.

he arched his back deliberately, letting out a guttural moan that echoed through the small bedroom.

“fuuuuck, sweetheart. just like that. you’re gonna make me come again. right in that pretty mouth of yours—god..." his words were calculated, designed to throw you off your game while his hands gripped your thighs tighter.

you continued your work, taking him deeper as your tongue swirled around the sensitive head. your own arousal was building from the power dynamic, from having him completely at your mercy beneath you. but you weren't expecting what happened next.

the moment your mouth finally released him with a soft pop, replacing it with your hand stroking his length firmly, eddie moved. fast and decisive. in one fluid motion, he flipped both of you over, breaking free from your triangle hold with surprising strength fueled by adrenaline and arousal.

before you could process what was happening, you found yourself bent over his knee, your stomach pressed against his thigh, your ass raised high in the air. your hands braced against the mattress, steadying yourself as shock rippled through your body.

"what the fuck, eds—"

"yeah, right," eddie growled, his voice dripping with dark amusement as he positioned himself behind you. one strong arm wrapped around your waist, holding you securely in place while his other hand hooked into the waistband of your shorts. "thought you were gonna get me again, huh?" he yanked your shorts down roughly, the fabric sliding past your hips and pooling around your knees along with your panties, leaving your lower half completely exposed to him.

his eyes darkened as he took in the sight before him—the curve of your ass, the glisten of moisture coating your inner thighs, the way your body trembled with anticipation and surprise. "holy shit," he breathed, his hand trailing possessively over the smooth skin of your rear. "look at you. all that just from teasing me, huh?"

"you’re such a good little slut for me, aren't you?" his thumb circled your entrance teasingly, feeling how wet you actually were. a low groan escaped him at the discovery. "this is what you wanted, wasn't it? to get me so worked up i couldn't think straight?"

the sharp crack of his palm against your bare flesh sent a jolt of sensation racing up your spine. you gasped, your fingers curling tightly into the rumpled sheets beneath you as the sting bloomed across your skin. a full-bodied shudder ran through you, and you whimpered—a sound that was equal parts pain and desperate need.

"eddie..."

hearing his name on your lips did something to him. something beyond the physical. the sight of you bent over his knee, your back arching involuntarily, your thighs trembling, your skin flushed pink wherever he'd touched—it hit him somewhere deep. like a punch directly to his heart.

"yeah? you like that, sweet girl?" his voice was rough and low, vibrating with barely restrained desire. his thumb traced slow circles over the reddened spot on your ass, soothing and tormenting in equal measure. "if you tap, i’ll play with you. i’ll make you feel reeealll good, i promise."

he gave you a moment to consider it. his hand rested warm and heavy on your hip, his fingers digging in just enough to remind you exactly who was in control now.

but you didn't tap.

of course you didn't. because you were competitive. because tapping meant admitting defeat. and you'd rather burn than give him the satisfaction.

eddie noticed. a slow, knowing grin spread across his face as he read your silence loud and clear.

"that’s what i thought," he murmured, his voice dropping into something darker. possessive. "my stubborn girl."

his hand lifted, hovering in the air for one agonizing second—letting you anticipate, letting the anticipation build to almost unbearable levels—before his palm came down again with a firm, resounding smack against your other cheek.

"ah—!" the moan tore from your throat before you could stop it. your hips bucked involuntarily, pushing back against him in a way that was entirely contradictory to your attempt at maintaining composure. your walls clenched around nothing, your body betraying every ounce of defiance your mind was trying to cling to.

"there we go," eddie praised, his voice thick with satisfaction. his free hand slid between your legs, his fingers parting your slick folds with ease.

the sensation of his finger dipping into your heat was overwhelming, a sudden intrusion that made your breath hitch violently. he didn't rush; instead, he used his fingertip to circle your entrance, dragging through the thick, honeyed slickness he’d already observed. the sound of his movements—the wet, rhythmic sliding of skin against skin—was deafening in the quiet of the trailer.

"god, look at you," eddie groaned, his voice cracking with a primal sort of hunger. “you're fucking drowning in it, sweetheart. absolutely soaked. every time i touch you, you just... you melt."

he pushed a single finger inside, testing your tightness, and you let out a broken, high-pitched whimper that sounded nothing like your usual self. you tried to keep your jaw clenched, tried to maintain some semblance of that stubborn pride, but your body was a traitor. your hips were practically begging for him to fill the void, tilting back toward him instinctively.

"all you gotta do is tap, sweetheart," he whispered, “just one little tap and i’ll play with you. i’ll give you exactly what you’re aching for. you think i don’t know how much you want this? i’ve known you for so long, i’ve picked up a thing or two about what makes you lose your mind."

he pulled his finger out almost entirely, only to drive it back in deeper, pushing past the initial resistance until he hit that sweet spot that made your eyes roll back in your head.

"mmmgh—eddie, please—"

“please what?" he mocked softly, though his breathing was coming in ragged, heavy bursts now. he was losing his own battle with control, his cock twitching rhythmically. "tell me what you want. tell me you can't take it anymore. tell me you're ready to tap."

despite the mounting tension, you still didn't tap. you clung to the sheets, your knuckles white, your breath coming in short, jagged gasps as you fought the urge to give in.

eddie let out a low, dark chuckle. "still no, huh? you’re really going to make me edge you? it’s just one little tap, baby."

the nickname hit you like a physical wave. the word 'baby'—spoken in that specific, low register—sent a jolt of electricity straight to your core, causing your internal muscles to clench tightly around his fingers. eddie groaned softly as he felt the sudden, desperate grip of your walls. it turned him on viciously, but it also made his heart clench with an intensity that terrified him. the raw intimacy of it, the way you reacted to him, made him want to make you feel good.

"yeah, you like it when i call you that, baby? fuck, you look so pretty like this. come here."

he shifted his weight, leaning over you more aggressively. he didn't let go of your heat, but he reached around, pressing his thumb firmly against your lips. you didn't hesitate; you leaned into it, sucking on his thumb with a desperate hunger, your whimpers muffled and wet against his skin.

"yeah, suck on that, sweet girl. drool on it if you want to," he groaned, his voice sounding strained, almost pained. "just take it. take everything i’ve got."

his fingers inside you shifted gears, moving from a slow tease to a rough, demanding pace. he was driving into you now, hitting that precise spot over and over again, pushing you closer and closer to the edge of a cliff. he could feel your body shaking, your breath hitching in a way that told him you were seconds away from shattering.

eddie pulled his thumb from your mouth. before you could even gasp for air, he slid his hand down, pressing that same thumb directly onto your swollen, hypersensitive clit. he began to rub in a fast, relentless rhythm, perfectly synchronized with the rough pace of his fingers inside you.

the dual stimulation was too much. your head snapped back, a loud, broken cry escaping your throat as the world dissolved into white noise and pure, blinding pleasure.

as waves of pleasure crashed over you, eddie kept up the relentless pressure. his fingers curled inside you, grinding against that perfect spot while his thumb circled your clit in tight, deliberate motions that had you seeing stars.

“come on, baby, you're so close, aren't you?" he taunted, his voice a mix of dark amusement and genuine wonder. he leaned down, pressing his forehead against your shoulder blade, breathing heavily. "so fucking close to coming, huh? your wet, sloppy pussy's just aching to come, yeah? not until you tap though."

he punctuated his words with another sharp slap to your ass. the sting shot through the pleasure, intensifying it to an almost painful degree. you cried out, your whole body convulsing as a second orgasm threatened to tear you apart.

"c’mon, tap. i tapped for you earlier, baby," he murmured, his voice shifting into something sweeter, almost tender despite the cruel teasing. his thumb slowed its rhythm, becoming gentler as he coaxed you. "don’t you want to come? don’t you want to come for me?"

he knew you were fighting it. could feel the tension in your muscles as you battled against your own body's demands. it was infuriating and beautiful all at once. his heart swelled with something far deeper than simple lust.

"just one tap, sweetheart. give in. let me win this round," he whispered, his lips brushing against your ear.

“please... eddie... please, i can't..." you managed to choke out, your voice cracking. you tried to pull away, to find some relief, but his hand on your hip was an anchor, keeping you pinned exactly where he wanted you. "let me... just let me come, please!"

eddie’s grip tightened. he didn't relent; if anything, he increased the pressure, his fingers curling deeper, driving into you with a newfound, predatory urgency.

"no, baby, not yet," he purred, the teasing sweetness still there mixed with raw, commanding hunger. "don’t fucking come until i tell you to. you gotta tap."

"you’re... you're such a dick!" you sobbed out, a mixture of a laugh and a cry. you hated how much you loved this. you hated that even through the haze of ecstasy, your pride was still standing, stubborn and ridiculous. "fuck, i hate you, eddie!"

"yeah? you hate me?" his thumb worked your clit with a frantic, punishing speed that made your hips buck uncontrollably. "is that right? no, you don't hate me, sweetheart. you love—“ he paused. “…this. you love being told what to do by me, don’t you?”

he leaned down, his teeth grazing the nape of your neck, leaving a mark that made you whimper.

"yeah? you’d rather i just edge you like that?" he taunted, his voice dropping into a dangerous, low register that sent a fresh chill of arousal down your spine. "just drill that fucking pussy with my fingers? is that what you want? guess i should just fuck you then, huh? i’ll flip you over, pin you down, and pound you until you can't even remember your own name, let alone how to be stubborn."

the mental image was too much. your breath hitched, your lungs feeling too small for the air you were trying to pull in.

eddie’s gaze was unwavering; he watched every tremor of your muscles, every frantic roll of your eyes, looking for any sign of surrender. but even as his lust burned white-hot, a deep, aching pang of longing throbbed in his chest. he didn't just want to conquer your body. he wanted to pull you into his arms and kiss you until neither of you could breathe, to tell you everything he had been hiding behind jokes and hair-ruffling for years.

“yeah," he breathed, his voice a jagged edge of desire. "i’m gonna pump that pussy full of come. is that what you want, baby? to feel me inside you, filling you up?"

you were a broken, moaning mess. your protests had dissolved into incoherent pleas, your pride finally buckling under the sheer weight of the sensation. you were hovering on the precipice, your entire being vibrating with the need to shatter, but eddie was a master of torment. every time you reached for the peak, he shifted his rhythm, pulling back just enough to leave you gasping and empty.

suddenly, the friction stopped. the sudden absence of his fingers felt like a physical wound.

before you could even find your breath to protest, eddie moved. with a surge of strength that caught you off guard, he gripped your hips and flipped you over. you landed hard against the mattress, your legs falling open instinctively, your chest heaving as you stared up at him through a veil of damp hair.

he didn't care about the game anymore. the competition, the tapping, the teasing—it had all been burned away by a sudden, primal necessity. he needed to be in you.

eddie hovered over you, his eyes dark and hooded, looking like a man possessed. he guided himself to your entrance, the tip of his cock brushing against your slick, swollen folds. he paused for a heartbeat, his muscles trembling with the effort of restraint.

then, with one heavy, decisive thrust, he drove himself home.

"oh god—oh god, fuck," he groaned, the sound tearing from his lungs as he buried himself deep within you. the sensation of your tight, pulsing heat swallowing him whole was almost more than he could bear.

your hand immediately found his arm, fingers digging into the taut muscle of his bicep as you tilted your head back against the pillow. the sensation of him stretching you, filling you completely, sent sparks cascading behind your eyelids. a raw, guttural moan escaped your lips, his name tumbling from them without thought.

"oh fuck, eddie, you feel so good..."

the praise hit him like a freight train. his cock twitched inside you, swelling thicker as a shudder rolled through his entire body. the way you looked beneath him—eyes half-lidded, lips parted, cheeks flushed crimson, your nails leaving crescent marks in his skin—it was beautiful. devastating. everything he'd ever wanted and more.

it wasn't just the sex; it was the fact that it was you. hearing you worship him, feeling your hands clinging to him like he was the only thing keeping you tethered to the earth, sent a wave of possessive, overwhelming love through him.

"yeah?" he panted, his hips finding a slow, rolling rhythm as he settled into the depth of you. "that feel good for you, baby? take that cock, sweet girl, take it all in." his voice was reverent, almost worshipful, despite the crude words. one hand slid under your lower back, arching you slightly, changing the angle just enough to make you gasp.

he began to move. slowly at first, savoring the feel of you wrapped around him like a glove, then gradually building momentum. each thrust was deliberate, deep, pushing to the hilt before withdrawing almost all the way, only to slam back inside with a force that made the bed creak in protest. the wet, obscene sounds of their bodies meeting filled the trailer alongside your cries.

"hold onto me," he grunted, his pace quickening. "don’t let go, okay? not... not ever."

your legs wrapped around him, pulling him deeper, and eddie’s control fractured further. he buried his face against your neck, breathing you in while kissing at the skin—taking in the scent of sweat mixed with your perfume—as his hips pistoned into you with increasing desperation.

"i’m not gonna last," he admitted as he pulled back, his voice cracking. "not without you. come with me, baby, please. you’ve been so good. you can come now."

as your moans grew louder, more desperate, eddie’s gaze flickered downward. for a split second, he looked at your lips—swollen and parted and glistening—and something in his expression shifted. raw vulnerability flickered across his features before he masked it with another thrust.

you noticed.

"what, y-you wanna—fuck—kiss me, eds?"

you couldn't help yourself. even now, even with his cock driving into you and your entire world dissolving into sensation, you had to tease him. had to push him just a little further.

he swallowed hard, his gaze never leaving yours. he saw the desire, the need reflected in your eyes, and suddenly, the longing that had been building beneath the physical urgency erupted. it was a desperate bid to bridge the gap between the physical act and the soul-deep connection he craved.

he closed the distance in an instant. his mouth crashed onto yours—deep, messy, and passionate. it was hungry, a furious expression of every moment of wanting, every unspoken feeling that had coiled inside him for so long. he kissed you with the ferocity of a man who was pouring every ounce of his love and longing into that kiss, trying to communicate everything he couldn't say aloud.

your initial surprise melted away instantly, replaced by a reciprocal fire.

as you met his mouth with a desperate, frantic hunger, your movements were driven by the sheer, overwhelming sensation of him—the friction, the heat, the primal urge to feel more, to lose yourself in the pleasure he was providing. you were chasing the peak, riding the wave of physical ecstasy that threatened to drown you.

but eddie... eddie was somewhere else entirely. every time his lips pressed against yours, it wasn't just about the sensation; it was almost like a prayer. he was trying to anchor himself to you even as the world blurred around the edges.

he broke the kiss, his breath coming in ragged, uneven hitches. his lips migrated from your mouth to your jawline, trailing hot, wet kisses down to the sensitive dip of your neck. his nipped at your skin, his teeth grazing you just enough to make you arch your back, his hands gripping your hips like he was afraid you might vanish if he let go.

"come on, baby... come on my cock," he groaned against your skin, his voice a low, gravelly vibration that thrummed through your entire body. he found your clit again, his thumb working with a rhythmic, punishing precision that sent sparks flying behind your eyelids. "i got you, i got you. fuck, you look so pretty... you look so fucking beautiful..."

the praise, delivered with such raw, unadulterated devotion, was the final catalyst. your world fractured. a sharp, high-pitched cry escaped your throat as your muscles convulsed around him, the orgasm crashing over you in violent, delicious waves.

eddie let out a low, guttural groan, his forehead dropping against your shoulder as he felt you tremble beneath him. he didn't slow down; if anything, the feeling of you tightening around him drove him closer to the edge. "oh, fuck... atta girl. atta girl, you did so good," he murmured, his voice thick with pride and adoration. he peppered your neck with frantic, soothing kisses, trying to steady you even as his own control began to disintegrate.

his body continued its relentless, insistent rhythm, each thrust a testament to the building storm within him. his words were a low, husky promise, his voice scraping against your skin like a gentle rasp. "oh, i’m gonna come... gonna come inside you, baby, you want it? you want me to come in that wet little cunt of yours?"

your response was a desperate, whimpish nod, your voice barely audible over the thrumming of your pulse. "yeah, eds, i want it. give it to me." the words were a siren's call, beckoning him closer to the edge.

and then, in an instant, he was over it. a low, breathless groan escaped his lips as he came hard inside you, his body locking up in a spasm of release. soft curses and a string of muttered oaths accompanied the violent, shuddering convulsions of his climax.

“f-fuck, oh god, yeah…”

as you both panted, struggling to catch your breath, his gaze met yours in a fleeting, shining moment. his eyes were dark, his pupils blown wide with the aftermath of his orgasm, but beneath the haze of pleasure, a glimmer of something else lingered. something that looked almost like hope.

he kissed your shoulder as he leaned down, his lips tracing a soft, comforting path along the delicate curve of your skin. his hand rose to your hip, resting there lightly as if anchored to your very existence.

then your hand moved up to tangle itself in his damp curls, fingers threading through the long, wavy strands with a gentleness that made his heart ache.

to eddie, that gesture was everything. that simple, innocent touch told him more than any confession ever could. for one fragile, suspended moment, he allowed himself to believe—that maybe, just maybe, you saw him differently. that the connection he felt wasn't just one-sided.

but he knew better.

"come here," he whispered, his voice hoarse and tender. he tilted your chin up with careful fingers, guiding your lips toward his. the second kiss was a revelation compared to the first. softer. slower. still carrying the embers of the previous passion, but burning with something deeper—something patient and aching and brave all at once. his lips moved against yours with a reverence that bordered on worship, savoring every millimeter of contact.

you hummed against his mouth, and the sound made his chest tighten painfully.

don’t pull away. don’t pull away. don’t pull away.

he kissed you until neither of you could breathe, and then he kissed you some more.

but as you pulled back, a soft giggle slipped from your lips. eddie smiled softly, brushing your hair away from your face. “what?”

you shook your head, still a little breathless. “nothing. just… didn’t expect us to become fuck buddies, i guess.”

your words landed like a knife between his ribs. fuck buddies. two words that reduced everything he'd just experienced—the emotional nakedness, the quiet desperation in his own kisses—to something casual.

like it was something transactional

he kept his expression carefully neutral, but the muscle in his jaw tightened. he looked away, staring at the wall of his cramped bedroom as if it contained the answers to questions he was too afraid to ask. his thumb traced an absent circle against your hip, the motion mechanical now rather than intentional.

"yeah, me neither," he said quietly. too quietly. the words carried far less weight than the silence that surrounded them.

he expected this to happen, but it still pained him to hear how casual you were about it. he felt like an idiot for even letting himself hope.

you laughed lightly, and he forced a small smile, still not meeting your eyes. he could feel the shift between them—a subtle, imperceptible cooling, like a cloud passing over the sun. you probably didn't notice it. or maybe you did and simply didn't care.

he cleared his throat, disentangling himself slowly. the loss of contact was immediate and acute—like a phantom limb, he felt the absence of your warmth against his skin with painful clarity. he sat up on the edge of the bed, running a hand through his disheveled curls, trying to collect himself.

"so," he started, his voice settling back into its usual easy cadence—but something underneath it had shifted. a guard going back up. walls rebuilding brick by brick. "guess we should, uh... probably get breakfast or something."

he stood, stretching his tall frame, deliberately keeping his back turned to you. he needed a moment to compose himself—to push down the ache that was blooming in his chest like a bruise turning purple. he grabbed his boxers from the floor and pulled them on, the mundane act helping to ground him back in reality.

it’s fine. it’s just sex. just because you caught feelings doesn't mean she owes you anything.

he glanced over his shoulder, forcing that signature lazy grin. "unless you wanna stay in bed all day. i’m not complaining either way." the joke fell flat in his own ears, and he hoped you didn't hear it.

you didn't notice the flicker of pain in his eyes or the way his smile didn't quite reach them. as he sat back down, you simply leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the back of his shoulder. to you, it was a sweet gesture of affection; to eddie, it was a gentle twist of a knife, a reminder of how effortless this was for you while he was drowning in it.

“can’t. i gotta get home soon or my parents will freak,” you said, your voice light and cheerful. you stood up, grabbing your panties and shorts from the floor and tugging them on with a casualness that made his heart sink. eddie sat there, frozen, watching you with a longing so profound it felt physical. he traced the line of your silhouette, memorizing the way you looked in the morning light, knowing that the intimacy he’d just felt was a secret he would have to carry alone.

“fuck, where are my keys?” you asked, glancing around the room.

“probably on the dresser, sweetheart,” he answered softly, his voice lacking its usual theatrical energy.

you found them and let out a sigh of relief, stepping back into his space one last time to plant a quick, friendly kiss on his cheek. “thanks, eds. and thanks for… whatever this was,” you added with a little chuckle, the phrase 'whatever this was' echoing in his mind as a definitive label for their new arrangement. “i’ll see you later, yeah?”

you were already halfway to the door, your energy buzzing and untroubled. eddie just sat there, his shoulders slumping slightly as the silence of the room rushed back in to fill the void you left behind. he nodded, his gaze softening into something mournful.

“yeah,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. “see ya.”

he waited until the sound of your footsteps faded and the door clicked shut before he let out a long, shaky breath. he sank back onto the bed, burying his face in his hands, the ghost of your scent still clinging to his skin and the crushing weight of an unrequited love settling heavily in his chest…

He knew this was stupid, plainly a terrible idea. On any other day, the thought wouldn’t have even crossed his mind, but today wasn’t any ordinary day. Today was his birthday. Fifty-five years old, and he had never felt more lost in his own life. Nothing had turned out the way he’d once imagined it would. If someone had told him, back when he was a resident, that he would still be coming home to an empty apartment at this age, no wife curled up on the couch waiting for him with a tired but loving smile, no chorus of small feet thundering toward the door, shoving drawings into his hands and saying “Look what I made for you today, daddy!” he would have laughed in their face and called it a cruel joke.

Yet here he was. No relationship had ever survived the weight of the hours and the way his mind stayed trapped in the ED long after he left it. He couldn’t be present anymore, not the way a partner deserved. The job had hollowed him out in ways he hadn’t noticed until it was too late.

It had been almost a year since he ended things with Noelle, not long after he returned from his sabbatical. He’d told himself it was the right thing to do. Maybe it really was better this way. At this point in his life, trying again felt pointless, almost selfish. He was saving whatever good women were still out there from the inevitable complications of loving Michael Robinavitch.

But today the emptiness hit differently. The apartment felt quieter than usual, and his thoughts were louder, circling like a vulture. He knew it was the birthday doing this to him. Birthdays had a way of dragging the sorrows out into the light, every missed milestone, every abandoned version of the life he thought he’d have. Jack had tried to pull him out of it, offering a beer after shift, but Robby had politely declined. He wasn’t in the mood for forced cheer, for anyone raising a glass to another year of the same.

He’d made it clear to the whole department that he didn’t want any birthday cake, no cards, no presents, nothing. Still, the well-meaning murmurs had followed him all day: “Happy birthday, Dr. Robby,” each one met with a progressively wearier smile until the words blurred together. By the end of the shift, he was only managing quiet nods of acknowledgment, the kind that said thank you and please stop at the same time.

So here he was, in an apartment that was too big for himself, lying on a couch that felt even bigger, downloading Tinder on his phone. He rubbed a hand over his face, he’d tried Tinder once, maybe two years ago. Downloaded it, swiped for a week, then deleted it when the superficial nonsense started bothering him too much.

He started with the basics. Photos. Robby opened his gallery and scrolled slowly through the meager collection. Most of the images were work-related, grainy screenshots of charts, or blurry shots of trees and roads he’d taken during his bike rides. After a long hesitation, he picked a silly selfie he’d sent Jack a few weeks earlier. He was holding up the book the two of them had been texting about, half-smiling at the camera like he felt ridiculous even taking it. It wasn’t terrible, he supposed. He looked… friendly. Approachable, maybe. 

Next, he chose one from the department barbecue he’d actually forced himself to attend last summer. He was wearing the sleeves rolled up on a button-down shirt, and holding a beer in his hand. He didn’t hate it, it showed a version of himself that still showed up for people, even when he didn’t feel like it. The last one was from the hospital fundraiser gala two years ago. He looked elegant in that photo in a black suit, but he had to crop Jack out of the frame, his face was still half-visible over his shoulder. Three photos, not exactly a compelling portfolio, but they were honest, he wasn’t pretending to be anyone other than himself.

He moved on to preferences. Gender: Women. Age range… His thumb froze. At first, he set it to 50–60. Women at the same stage he was, maybe divorced, maybe widowed, or just tired of feeling alone. But then something flickered in his chest, part curiosity and part desperation, and before he could talk himself out of it, he dragged the lower end down. Twenty to sixty. The wider net felt reckless, almost embarrassing. But what if the love of his life existed somewhere in that range? What if he missed her by something as stupid as a single year on a slider?

As if the love of your life was sitting on Tinder on a Sunday night, he thought. Don’t be fucking stupid, Robby.

He stared at the screen for a long moment, and with a quiet sigh that sounded too much like surrender, he tapped confirm. Now it was time for the bio. Robby stared at the blank field for a long minute. What the hell was he supposed to say? He wasn’t looking for anything specific. Company? Distraction? Someone who wouldn’t mind a man who came home at crazy hours, sometimes covered in blood and whocarried more baggage than he could carry?

He typed slowly what felt the most honest: “ER doctor in Pittsburgh. Love long bike rides to clear my head and 70s rock. Not entirely sure what I’m looking for here, but if you can handle sarcasm and odd hours, we might get along.”

He read it back. It sounded stiff, after all, he wasn’t used to this. But it was him, and so he hit save before he could overthink it more. The app prompted him to start swiping. Robby leaned back against the couch as the profiles began loading, smiling faces, pictures of holiday destinations, and bios full of lists of requirements. He swiped left on most without much thought. 

Left. Left. Left. Some of the women seemed nice, but nothing pulled him in. He kept going until the endless scroll of faces started blurring together. No one stuck, just the same hollow feeling that had driven him to download the damn thing in the first place.

But then your profile appeared. Robby’s entire body froze. The photo loaded first: you, one of his own residents. You were standing in scrubs outside the Pitt with the same smirk you got after a particularly chaotic shift. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered as the heat crawled up his neck. Awkward didn’t even begin to cover what he was feeling right now. 

At work you were talented and dedicated, but still green enough that he rode you hard during shifts. And here you were on Tinder, of all places. The thought that you, or anyone else from the department, might stumble across his profile made his stomach twist with embarrassment. He could already imagine the gossip: Dr. Robby on Tinder. How pathetic.

He should swipe left immediately, delete his profile, and pretend this never happened. Instead, curiosity won. Robby tapped on your profile, telling himself it was just… professional concern. Making sure you weren’t doing anything stupid. He cared about his residents. Yeah, that was it.

Your bio loaded beneath the main photo: “If you like girls who will force you to watch her Letterboxd top four and then talk your ear off for hours about the hidden meaning behind her favorite songs, then I’m your girl. Emergency med resident with zero free time. Not looking for anything serious, just fun, meeting people, seeing where it goes.”

Robby let out a chuckle despite himself, the sound was unexpected in the quiet of the moment. He had only ever seen you in the chaos of the ED, running on adrenaline and too little sleep. But this version of you felt… different. He found himself thinking about how little he actually knew you. How little he’d allowed himself to know.

He didn’t know where you were from, or what your family was like, whether you had siblings who called too often or parents you tried to make proud. He didn’t know what you did outside of the hospital besides the occasional beer in the park, or what made you laugh until your sides hurt. All those small and ordinary pieces of a life that existed outside the emergency department.

It felt strangely intimate, seeing you like this. Like stumbling across a part of you he wasn’t supposed to have access to. A version of you that wasn’t filtered through the hierarchy of resident and attending. Up until now, you had been “his resident”, contained within the professional boundaries he’d carefully maintained.

He started swiping through your photos. The second picture was you laughing in what looked like a group hike, with your hair windblown and your eyes bright. You looked undeniably pretty. Objectively, he’d always known you were attractive. The kind of natural attractiveness that turned heads in the hospital corridors even when you were exhausted and covered in sweat. But once again, he’d never thought about it. You were a resident, he’d gone down that path before, and it’d ended badly. That made you off-limits, end of story.

The third photo was of you in a cozy sweater, curled up with a book and a mug of coffee. It was cute, almost sweet. The kind of image that made the loneliness in his chest ache. He kept swiping until the last photo hit him like a defibrillator. You were on a beach somewhere sunny and sandy, wearing a bikini. Your skin was glowing under the sun, and you were smiling at the camera in a confident pose, the kind of effortless beauty that could stop any man cold. Holy fuck, your body barely contained by the fabric of the bikini, the photo capturing the gentle swell and the way the light played across your body. 

Robby’s mouth went dry, the heat flooded his face and then lower down his body. He hadn’t expected that. Hadn’t let himself imagine you like this, outside the hospital, undeniably a woman and not just one of his residents. His pulse kicked up, the nervousness made his hands shake and his grip slippery. He fumbled the phone, trying to swipe left fast. Swipe left, damn it, he thought.

But he accidentally jerked his thumb the wrong way, to the right, and the screen lit up with that unmistakable animation. 

It’s a Match!

On the other side of Pittsburgh, you had been lying in bed, still trying to unwind after another brutal twelve-hour shift. Sleep felt miles away, so you’d given in to the guilty habit of late-night Tinder scrolling. Sure, swiping at 1 a.m. probably looked desperate to anyone else, but who cared? It wasn’t like you had much of a life outside the hospital anyway.

You swiped left with efficiency. Guy whose entire bio was just a link to his podcast. Left. Gym mirror selfies and nothing else. Left. Self-proclaimed “entrepreneur in the crypto market” with a Lamborghini in the background that probably wasn’t even his. Left.

How was it this difficult to find someone even remotely decent? You weren’t expecting to meet the love of your life in this digital dumpster, but was it really too much to ask for a man with basic social skills and a profile that didn’t scream immediate red flags? Someone whose opening line wasn’t just “u dtf?”

Guy who still clearly lived with his mom. Another left. “No feminists” in the bio, followed by a rant about “high value woman.” Left.

Then your thumb froze mid-swipe. Michael Robinavitch. Your heart slammed against your ribs. There he was, Dr. Robby, looking straight into the camera in one of the photos, that familiar half-smile you’d seen a thousand times in the ED, only now it was on a dating app.

You sat up straighter in bed, suddenly wide awake. What the hell was Dr. Robby doing on Tinder? You’d scrolled through this app for weeks and never seen him before. He must have created the profile recently. The man you’d been quietly (and not-so-quietly) thirsting over since your very first day of residency was right here. One match away. 

How could you not like Robby? He was everything you’d ever wanted in a man, strong, steady, impossibly smart, and so damn capable it made your legs weak every single time he gave you a calm and yet authoritative instruction in the middle of a trauma.

You’d lost count of how many times he’d gently reprimanded you for being distracted while charting. He always assumed you were just tired from the long hours. He had no idea that you kept getting lost in vivid daydreams about him: running your fingers through the silver-flecked hair and that coarse, greyish beard, feeling those big hands wrap around your waist, pulling you close.

You loved the way his eyes crinkled warmly behind his glasses when he smiled, the way his voice dropped into that gravelly register when he needed to command attention in the ED… it did things to you. Dangerous, addictive things. Sometimes getting in trouble with him felt more exciting than it had any right to.

His Tinder bio was unexpectedly adorable. He looked a little lost, like he wasn’t entirely sure he belonged on the app but was willing to put himself out there anyway. That bike is not the only thing I’d like to ride, you thought, as a little smile tugged at your lips.

His pictures made you melt and sigh at the same time. That warm, contagious smil, the glasses that struck the perfect balance between hot and endearingly sweet. The silver threading through his beard that made you press your thighs together at the mere thought of feeling it against your skin, between your legs, specifically. 

You swiped slowly through the rest of his photos. Those wide shoulders, that tall and solid frame, that soft belly under the button-down shirt… you wanted him in a way you had never wanted anyone before. 

It was almost pathetic the way your heart did a little skip every time he complimented your work on a tough case. The way your thighs squeezed together almost involuntarily whenever he stepped in close during a complicated procedure, guiding you step by step, his voice low and patient near your ear. “Yeah, grab the blade like that… make a two-inch incision, softly, very gently.” “Hold the tube with your left hand, tight, don’t move it.”

It made your mind wander to dangerous places. Was he like that in bed too? The kind of man who talked you through it, calm and devastatingly attentive? In your fantasies, he absolutely was. Late at night, alone in this very bed with nothing but your hand and your imagination, you could almost hear his voice murmuring against your skin: “Keep your legs open for me, nice and wide… just like that.” “Look at you… already making such a mess. I’m gonna start with one finger, okay? Think you can be good and take it for me?”

Should you swipe right? It felt like the only logical choice. If he swiped left, which seemed like the most likely outcome, he would never even know you’d swiped on him. But if he did swipe right… then maybe, just maybe, you could end up in Robby’s bed.

Your hopes stayed low. Never in a million years did you actually expect Robby to be attracted to you the way you were to him. You would’ve noticed something by now, maybe in lingering stares, subtle flirting, or any shift in the way he treated you. But he didn’t. He treated you exactly like the rest of the residents: a young doctor he needed to teach, who could sometimes be frustratingly distracted.

Still, you couldn’t contain the tiny, thrilled scream that escaped your lips when the screen lit up:

It’s a Match!

Robby had matched with you. He wanted you too.

“Shit!” Robby dropped the phone onto the couch like it had burned him. It bounced once and landed face-up, the match confirmation still glowing on the screen. He and you had just matched on Tinder. All thanks to that goddamn bikini photo and his clumsy, nervous fingers.

He stared at it, feeling his heart hammering harder than it had during the worst trauma cases. This was mortifying. You’d seen his profile, you’d swiped right, and now you were going to see that he’d swiped right as well. Part of him, the tired and lonely part that had downloaded the app and widened the age range, wondered what you’d think. 

A dozen what-ifs tumbled through his mind. What if you saw his profile and laughed? That disbelieving laugh when something genuinely surprised you. What if you messaged him first? Maybe it had been a mistake on your end too. Maybe your phone had slipped, or you’d been swiping too fast after a long shift, half-asleep and a little buzzed. Or maybe… maybe you’d swiped right on purpose, just to tease him. He could already picture the text popping up on his phone: “Oh my god, Dr. Robby. What are you doing on Tinder? lol.”

Robby ran both hands through his hair, exhaling sharply. He picked the phone back up, looking straight at the Send message button. He shouldn’t. The responsible thing would be to delete the app, pretend this night never happened, and go back to being your attending, not your Tinder match. 

Instead, he opened your profile again. Robby tried to move past it, he really did, but his eyes lingered on that last photo far longer than they should have. You in a bikini, your skin glowing under warm sunlight. He couldn’t believe that was what you looked like underneath the baggy scrubs you wore every day in the ED.

It felt wrong. Like he wasn’t allowed to see you like this, like he was intruding on something deeply private, crossing a line that should never even be approached between an attending and his resident. Guilt twisted in his stomach, but it wasn’t enough to make him look away.

His body reacted anyway, a sudden heat stirring unwanted, a throb of arousal he hadn’t felt this sharply in longer than he cared to admit. He shifted uncomfortably on the couch, hating himself for it even as the reaction deepened. What the hell is wrong with you, Robby? he told himself, but the self-reproach did nothing to dull the pull. What could he do? You were a woman. A beautiful one, and for the first time, he was seeing you not just as his resident, but as someone undeniably, breathtakingly desirable.

Before he could delete his account and go to bed as he should, your message popped up.

You: hii :)

Robby’s breath hitched in his throat. For a split second, he swore his heart actually stopped. Then it slammed back into rhythm, pounding so hard he could feel it in his ears, in his temples, in the tightness of his chest. The little smiley face stared back at him from the screen, innocent and cheerful, as if it hadn’t just flipped his entire night upside down.

You had matched with him. At eleven at night. On his lonely fucking birthday. What the hell was he supposed to say to you at 11 pm. after accidentally matching with her on Tinder? “Hey, funny seeing you” here felt pathetic. “This is wildly inappropriate” felt like a lie because the rush of heat still lingering in his veins said otherwise.

He set the phone down on the coffee table for a moment, dragging a hand over his face for the millionth time. Part of him wanted to delete the match immediately, pretend it never happened, and go to bed like the responsible, professional attending he was supposed to be. But another part, the part that had been sitting alone on his fifty-fifth birthday, couldn’t bring itself to swipe left on this one unexpected connection. So he picked the phone back up and stared at the blinking cursor in the message box.

Another message came through a minute later.

You: robby? it’s me from work... guess you saw my profile too haha

Robby let out a long breath, he couldn’t avoid it now that you’d initiated a conversation with him. It was better to be direct, explain the mistake to you, and shut this down before it got any more awkward.

Robby: hey yeah, I saw it listen, this is embarrassing as hell, i was messing around with the app, dropped my phone and it must have swiped right by accident sorry about that, didn’t mean to make things weird

He hit send and immediately regretted how cold it sounded, but it was the truth. The phone stayed quiet for a moment that stretched too long. He had his eyes fixed on the screen, waiting for your reply so he could shut down this awkward conversation and delete this stupid app before he accidentally matched with anyone else from work. 

You: oh. so it was a mistake? damn, i thought you had swiped right on purpose. bummer.

Robby’s eyes widened. You were being direct, not beating around the bush or deflecting by saying it had been a mistake on your end as well. He could practically hear your voice saying it with a teasing edge.

Robby: Sorry about the confusion  i know it might be awkward finding me on here. probably the last person you expected, i don’t usually do this. 

You: honestly it was surprising. didn’t peg you as the tinder type at all.  but hey, we all have our moments i guess

Robby: i’m not the type this is my second time ever downloading it and i already regret it, should probably delete the whole thing before i make an even bigger fool of myself.

You: yeah i get it. i thought the match was mutual so i figured i’d say hi. sorry for texting if it was just an accident. didn’t mean to make it weirder

Robby read your message twice. Thought the match was mutual. The words echoed in his brain. You had swiped right on purpose, not as a joke, not out of morbid curiosity about your boss’s sad dating life. You had chosen him willingly. The realization of what that meant sent a confusing rush through him. You liked him, that had to be it. The thought of you… having a crush on him made a warm feeling run through his body, one he immediately tried to shove down.

Robby: What do you mean you thought it was mutual?

You: idk... i saw the notification and figured you wanted to match with me since it happened. that’s why i said hi right away. didn’t want to leave it hanging if we were both curious

He stared at the screen, his heart beating a little harder. You were so honest and blunt about your feelings, he found himself almost intimidated by it. Some rational part of his brain was trying to tell him this had to be a big joke, there was no way in hell you could like him. You were… you. What would you see in a man like him?

Robby: you wanted us to match? seriously?

You: lol yeah i did swipe right, didn’t i? your profile was actually really nice. the book pic is cute and the 70s rock mention made me smile. plus... i don’t know,  you’re interesting. figured why not. no pressure though

Robby: i thought maybe you did it out of curiosity or just to see if I’d swiped on you didn’t expect you to actually want that

You: well i did. but if it was an accident on your end then no big deal. we can pretend this never happened and go back to normal tomorrow. i won’t mention it at work or anything. promise

Robby let his head fall back against the couch, closing his eyes for a long moment as he exhaled heavily. He knew exactly what the responsible Chief of Emergency Medicine should do right now: unmatch immediately, delete his profile, and pretend the entire night had been nothing more than a lonely fever dream.

But tonight… tonight he didn’t want to be responsible. He didn’t want to be Dr. Robinavitch, the attending who had sacrificed nearly every personal connection, every version of a fuller life, on the altar of the ED. For once, he wanted to be Michael. Just Michael. The man who had matched with you on Tinder. The man who was currently staring at his phone with his heart hammering like he was twenty years younger.

Before he could piece together a polite but firm way to end the conversation and retreat back into the safety of professional distance, another message appeared.

You: i think your profile’s part of the reason i swiped right. the book pic’s really nice

He smiled faintly at that, a rare genuine twitch at the corner of his mouth. Robby leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees.

Robby: your profile’s pretty good too, better than most of the ones i’ve seen tonight

You: aww thanks. your’s so much better than the usual bullshit on here which is not that hard to be but still finding you here is a nice change :)

Robby: you on this app a lot? seems like you’ve got the profile down

You: not really. i’ve been on a couple dates from here but it’s honestly exhausting. hard to find someone decent in this city. most guys are either looking for hookups with zero conversation or they’re boring as hell. you know how it is

Robby: fair enough. your age range must be set pretty high if it pulled me up fifty five isn’t exactly the usual crowd for you or is it?

You: haha yeah well  i like older men

Those four stupid words hit him square in the chest like a defibrillator. “I like older men.” Robby reread them slowly, feeling a dangerous warmth bloom low in his belly and spread outward through his chest. He was an older man, and apparently, that fit exactly into your preferences. Was that flirtation? Were you subtly implying that he was the kind of older man you liked? Or was it just a casual, throwaway comment, something you’d say to any guy on the app who happened to have a few gray hairs?

No. He was spiraling too deep, overthinking it the way he always did. Your words didn’t carry some hidden, special meaning meant just for him. They couldn’t. And yet… No matter how hard he tried to talk himself down, he couldn’t ignore the flicker of validation that lit up inside him. He felt desired, really desired. Not just by anyone, but by you: someone younger, and so strikingly pretty it almost hurt to look at your photos for too long. Someone who, in his mind, was clearly way out of his league.

Robby: It’s okay to have preferences  everyone does.

You: yeah exactly. i just find older guys more attractive than the ones my age. they’re usually more mature, know what they want, have actual life experience. it’s... hotter, i guess. plus the conversations are better

He swallowed hard, feeling his throat suddenly dry. He could practically see your face as you typed those words, maybe biting your lower lip in that teasing way you sometimes did right after nailing a difficult procedure.

Then the bikini photo from earlier flashed unbidden through his mind, and the heat in his body flared hotter. He pictured you exactly as you’d looked in that shot: sun-warmed skin, curves barely contained by the fabric. The thoughts he had no right to entertain came rushing in anyway, pulling him deeper. Thoughts of having you all to himself, of finally being able to run his hands slowly over every inch of that bare skin, tracing the line of your waist, sliding up your ribs, cupping the soft weight of your breasts. Of putting his mouth on you and every sensitive spot until you were trembling beneath him.

Robby: makes sense i usually go for women closer to my stage of life we have more in common that way

You: do age gaps bother you?

Robby: in what way?

You: like as a concept. are they a problem for you?

Robby: i’m okay with consenting adults doing what they want as long as everyone’s on the same page it’s not my business.

You: have you ever been in an age gap relationship or anything like that?

Robby: i once dated a woman a bit younger than me but usually around my age

He paused before sending the next part, he shouldn’t keep engaging in this deeply unprofessional conversation, but curiosity was getting the better of him. And you were simply so easy to talk to that he couldn’t stop himself from letting his walls down a little.

He typed before he could second-guess himself.

Robby: how much older are we talking anyway? the men you usually like i mean.

Your reply came fast, like you’d been waiting with the phone in hand.

You: usually over fifty up until their sixties or so. around that range. but it’s just a preference, nothing crazy. i feel like older men usually treat you better. they’re more gentlemanly, know how to actually listen, and they tend to understand what a woman wants... in every way, if you know what i mean ;)

Robby read the message twice. Three times. Four. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. Fuck me. You weren’t just being polite or making casual conversation. That winky face, the implication hanging there about “every way”. You were deliberately flirting with him, there was no other way to see it. He shifted on the couch, suddenly very aware of his own body and the fact that it had been a long damn time since anyone had spoken to him like that.

He took a slow breath and replied, trying to keep some semblance of control.

Robby: do you date men closer to your own age too?  or is it mostly the older crowd?

You: i have tried guys closer to my age. some of them are sweet but a lot are still figuring their shit out. you should try dating a woman younger than you sometime though. maybe it’s exactly what you need.

Robby didn’t know what to say. The words hung there, full of possibilities around them. He was still wrestling with a response when another message from you popped up.

You: anyway sorry again for the confusion earlier. i’ll leave you alone so you can keep scrolling through profiles. i’ll go back to robbing the graves haha (joke, get it? because i like older guys... sorry that was sooo bad)

Robby chuckled despite the whirlwind in his head. The joke was cheesy, so perfectly you that it cut through some of the tension. But it also gave him an out, you were offering to back off and let this weird moment fade into nothing before tomorrow’s shift made everything awkward as hell. Part of him wanted to take the exit ramp, wish you a good night, unmatch, delete the app, and pretend none of this happened. But another part, the one that had been sitting alone on his birthday didn’t want the conversation to end.

He tapped over to your photos again, almost against his will. There it was the last one. You on the beach in that bikini, with the perfect swell of your tits catching the sunlight. Holy fuck. He wanted you, the realization hit him all of a sudden, making him switch back to the chat and move his thumbs almost on autopilot.

Robby: Nothing to apologize for honestly you’ve kept me better company tonight than I expected

You: see? younger women can be good company too :) you shouldn’t close the door so fast. you could meet someone nice if you give it a chance

Robby: you shouldn’t close the door on guys your own age either there are decent ones out there, you’ll find someone who can keep up with you

You: out of all the guys i’ve matched with here... you’re easily the best one. no contest

Robby: Really? that can’t be right  you’re selling yourself short.

You: no i mean it. you’re exactly the kind of man i’d usually go for. tall, older, smart... and hot

The word hot hit him harder than it had any right to. His face flushed deeper, his clothes felt constricting, his pants uncomfortably tight. Robby’s cock was already half-hard, thickening and pulsing insistently against the zipper of his jeans with every new message.

All because you’d called him hot. Just a little cheeky, playful comment, and it was enough to unravel him. The touch starvation wasn’t helping. It had been so damn long since anyone had looked at him with real interest, longer still since he’d felt this fluttering feeling low in his stomach. This rush of ego, this sharp need to be close to someone, to be wanted, to touch and be touched.

Robby: thanks i guess you’ll meet someone worth your time, you’re a good girl 

The message was sent before he could fully reconsider the wording. The second it went through, Robby winced. It sounded weirdly sexually charged, maybe it was because he was feeling sexually charged, painfully so. A Freudian slip at its finest.

You: good girl? 😏

Robby: shit i didn’t mean it to sound weird just a figure of speech i suppose.

You: should i call you daddy then? ;)

Robby nearly dropped the phone again. The winky face, the bold suggestion, the way it played so perfectly into the tension that had been building sent a bolt of pure want through him. He could imagine your voice saying it, teasingly so, with that mischievous glint in your eyes. His mind supplied far too many vivid images: you in nothing but your skin looking up at him, you saying it in person with a flirty smile. He was fully hard. Actually hard, just from a fucking text conversation.

The professional alarm bells were clanging loudly in the back of his head. This was his resident, the age gap, the power dynamic, the fact that you’d have to face each other at the Pitt in a few short hours... it was all wrong. But god, it felt good. For the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel quite so alone.

He glanced down at the obvious bulge in his sweatpants, his cock straining against the fabric like a flagpole. He couldn’t believe it. One flirty text from his resident and he was rock hard. Don’t get hard for your fucking resident, he thought. She’s one of your own. Off-limits. This is insane. He adjusted himself uncomfortably, trying to will it down through stubbornness, but the ache only sharpened.

You: too much? sorry i was just messing around lol

Robby exhaled and typed back, trying to sound more composed than he felt.

Robby: Don’t worry about it i know it was a joke, no harm done

You: it was... unless you don’t want it to be a joke 

He let out a surprised laugh, his cock twitched again at the follow-up, you were relentless, and something told him you were noewhere near done.

Robby: you’re funny, i’ll give you that.

You: that’s what i’ve been told. glad you’re having fun with me tonight

Robby: Well, I guess I should let you get some sleep early shift tomorrow and all

You: i don’t mind staying up. i swiped right on you, remember? yk for a minute i really thought you were gonna flirt with me or maybe even ask me to come over to your place or something

The words hung there. You had been excited, you had hoped he would flirt. The image flashed through his mind, you showing up at his door in the middle of the night, stepping inside and… He shifted again, pressing his hand down against his insistent erection through his sweatpants, trying to get some relief even as guilt gnawed at him. This was crossing so many lines he’d promised himself he wouldn’t cross after Heather. But the loneliness that had driven him to download the app in the first place was quieter now, replaced by an electric tension.

Robby: that would be very inappropriate i’m your boss and there are lines we can’t cross

You: but you’re not dr. robby my attending in here. you’re michael robinavitch, 55, the guy who loves 70s rock and long bike rides. and i’m not your resident in this chat. i’m just a girl who likes movies and older men... and who is really, really into you right now

You were separating the roles so cleanly, drawing a line between the hospital and this private space. It was tempting, dangerously tempting. 

Robby: you know it doesn’t work like that we can’t just turn it off when the shift starts tomorrow

You: nah i’m pretty sure i can

Robby: No.

You: If we really can’t meet then we can do it over text, you know.

He stared at the screen trying to guess if you really meant what you were saying. 

Robby: what do you mean?

You: sexting, duh

He let out a short breath, Jesus fuck you were actually gonna kill him tonight.

Robby: that’s basically the same thing.

You: no it’s not. technically we’re not doing anything if it’s just messages. no one has to know.

Robby rubbed a hand over his jaw, his mind was screaming at him to shut this down, but his fingers were already moving. He couldn’t believe he was actually considering to do this.

This was a terrible idea. What difference did it really make whether it was real sex, his hands on you, feeling your heat around him, or just describing it in detail over text messages? A line was still a line. One he had promised himself he wouldn’t cross again. He didn’t want this to end with you giving up your residency, transferring to another hospital, another city, once things inevitably fell apart.

But fuck, his cock was achingly hard, straining against the front of his pants like a caged animal that desperately needed to be freed. The thought of you right now, maybe lying in your bed in, pressing your thighs together, that sweet slick already soaking through your panties because of him… it made it impossible to think straight. He couldn’t leave you like that, so wet, so needy, aching for him.

Robby: what do you want me to say?

You: i don’t know… just say something hot. you’re goot at being hot  

He hesitated, he wasn’t sure of what to say. He was scared of seeming naive and old school to you, but he wasn’t used to this whole… sexting thing. The most spicy exchange over texts had been insinuating pictures before asking someone to come over. Okay think Robby, if you can save someone’s life under extreme preassure then you can sext with a woman, just say something typical, he thought

Robby: who’s been a naughty girl?

The second he hit send he regretted it. He winced, already typing another message to backtrack when your reply came through.

You: lmao that was the best you’ve got?

Robby groaned out loud, dropping his head back against the couch. 

Robby: forget it. i’m going to bed

You: nooo wait. let’s try again :(

He should’ve put the phone down. He really should’ve. Instead he waited to see if you had anything else to say.

You: you’re so good at giving orders and guiding me at work. maybe you could do that now too? tell me what to do

You were right, in theory. He was good at instructing, guiding, teaching. It came naturally to him to step into that mentoring role, he had always been the one others looked to for direction.

Robby: i  feel stupid doing this.

You: pleeeease. i’ve always thought you were the kind of guy who talks people through it in bed. it’s the same here, just write it instead of saying it. tell me how you want me to touch myself

Your words hit him hard. He reread the message twice. He had never consciously thought about it before, but yes… that did sound exactly like him. Fragments of memory surfaced unbidden: the commanding tone he’d used with past partners, the way he’d instructed them. “Open your legs for me.” “Turn around.” “Look at me.” He remembered the way their breathing would change, the way they’d tremble under the weight of his voice and his hands.

Robby: you really want me to talk you through it, sweetheart?

You: yessss that was so much better. keep going

If anyone had asked you how it happened, you honestly wouldn’t have been able to explain it. You weren’t even sure yourself. One moment you were typing a slightly embarrassed apology to Robby for matching with him and the next, the conversation had taken a turn and you were the one demanding he sext you so you could get off. It was bold, stupidly reckless, and yet it felt inevitable.

Robby: good girl that’s exactly what I wanted to hear, i want you to get those pretty legs spread nice and wide for me, can you do that?

You whimpered softly and obeyed him instantly, letting your knees fall farther apart on the mattress. The cool air hit your exposed pussy making you shiver. 

You: yes. they’re open

Robby: Perfect i’d be on my knees between them right now if I could run your fingers up the inside of your thighs for me slowly, feel how soft they are

As you trailed your free hand up one thigh, you imagined his callused palms and the scratch of his greying beard following the same path.

You: doing it… feels so good thinking about your hands instead.

Robby: that’s my girl  now slide two fingers through your pussy and ell me how wet you are for me

You did exactly as he says, gasping as two fingers glided easily through your slick heat. You were soaked, embarrassingly so, the wet sounds filling the quiet bedroom as you stroked yourself.

You: So wet… i’m dripping. all because of you.

Robby: fuck i knew you would be i want you to circle your clit for me now Do it slowly and imagine it’s my tongue instead, licking you just the way you need i’d take my time, taste every inch of you

Your mons got louder, tipping your head back against the pillows as your fingers obeyed, traxing circles around your clit that sent sparks up your spine. In your mind, it was Robby’s mouth devouring you while his strong hands pinned your thighs down.

Robby: how does that feel, sweetheart? tell me

You: so good, i’m so sensitive. keep talking please

Robby: Good now slide one finger inside that tight pussy, nice and deep curl it up just like I would, searching for that spot that makes your legs shake i’d be watching your face the whole time, telling you how beautiful you look spread open for me, how good you are for listening

When you pushed a finger inside yourself, you curled it upward as instructed to hit that sensitive spot while your other hand kept working your clit in circles. 

Robby: add another finger and stretch yourself open i’d be so much thicker than your fingers, but we’ll start like this imagine me pumping them in and out while i rub your clit

Adding a second finger, you continued fucking yourself to the rhythm of his words on the screen. It was not enough, it was nowhere near enough to calm the hunger and desperation that was threatening to consume your whole being. You knew nothing would be enough, only feeling him inside of you.

You: wish it was you inside me. can’t get off like this. i need you robby please

Robby: you were the one who told me to do this 

You: i know i did. but it’s not enough send me your address

He was tempted, so tempted that for one second his fingers almost started typing on an impulse. But the reality crashed back in immediately. The risks, the morning after, the way he’d have to look at you during rounds, knowing what you’d done. He was rock hard and aching for you, but the responsible part of him still refused to crumble completely.

Robby: what for?  you’re not seriously thinking about coming over right now, are you?

You: robby i’m literally only like 2 miles away from you. are you dtf? not as dr. robinavitch and his resident, but as two adults who casually matched on tinder tonight. there’s no title or hospital here. it’s just us.

Two miles. You were so close. He stared at your message, feeling his heart slamming against his ribs. His cock gave another insistent throb, the head already leaking a little against his underwear. The thought of you actually coming over, right now, in the middle of the night, made his mouth go dry.

Robby: Send me your address and I’ll order you a ride. 

You sent your address a moment later. It really was only two miles away. He confirmed the ride, watching the estimated arrival time tick down. Fifteen minutes… only fifteen minutes until you’d be at his door.

You: this is exactly what i meant earlier about older guys. so much more gentlemanly. taking care of the details instead of just telling me to get there

You had no time to get ready, and honestly, you didn’t care. Makeup? Hair? None of that mattered when you were this desperate, this aching for him. You climbed out of bed still wearing the thin tank top and soft sleep shorts you’d worn to bed, and threw an oversized jacket over everything, one that swallowed most of your body and made you look far more put-together than you actually felt.

Your hands were shaking as you grabbed your keys and phone. The rideshare arrived sooner than you expected. The drive across the city felt both endless and far too short, but eventually the car pulled up outside his building.

You stood on the sidewalk for a second, staring up at the apartment complex, suddenly hit with the full weight of what you were doing, showing up at your attending’s door in the middle of the night, soaked and trembling with need, because a stupid Tinder match had spiraled completely out of control.

But you didn’t hesitate for long, you took a deep breath, pulled the jacket tighter around yourself, walked toward his door and knocked on it.

Robby opened it right away. He didn’t say a word, the second you were in reach, you had one of his strong hands cupping the back of your neck as he pulled you into a kiss. It was electric to say the least. His mouth claimed yours with a hunger that stole your breath. His beard was scraping deliciously against your skin as he moved his lips with experienced urgency. You melt into it instantly, fisting your hands in his shirt, tasting the pure, overwhelming taste of him. Finally. Here he was, kissing you like he’d been starving for it just as much as you had.

He kicked the door shut behind him without breaking the kiss, wrapping his other arm around your waist and pulling you flush against his taller frame. You felt the warmth of his hands roaming everywhere, gripping your hips, sliding up your sides, squeezing the curve of your ass through the fabric of your shorts. In your mouth, he groaned, making a vibrating sound that went through you as he explored every inch he could reach, like he was memorizing the feel of you. 

Your breasts were the next to get his attention, he was cupping them with his big hands through your tank top, brushing his thumb over your already hard nipple, while he tangles his other hand in your hair, tilting your head to deepen the kiss.

You pulled back just enough to gasp against his lips, “It took you long enough.”

Robby chuckled, the sound coming out breathless. “Took you long enough. You have any idea what it’s like waiting twenty minutes for you with a hard-on?” He pressed you closer, letting you feel the thick and insistent bulge against your stomach. 

As if they had a mind of their own, his hands couldn’t stop moving, squeezing, caressing, claiming, running down your back, over your thighs, everywhere he’d fantasized about touching. Before you could respond, he bent slightly and lifted you effortlessly. You wrapped your legs around his waist instinctively. 

The strength in his arms, the way his broad chest felt against you, sent a fresh rush of heat between your legs. He carried you through the house with purposeful strides. The door to your room swung open and he layed you gently on the bed, climbing on top of you immediately until his full weight pressing you deliciously into the mattress. 

The kissing resumed instantly, slower now but no less intense. Robby’s mouth was moving from your lips to your neck, sucking lightly and scratching you with his beard in the most perfect way. Now his hands got bolder, continuing their exploration but this time sliding under your tank top, pressing his palms against your bare skin. He lifted the fabric higher, exposing your breasts to the cool air of the room.

“Fuck,” Robby groaned, and maybe it was your mind playing tricks on you, but you could see his soft brown eyes turning darker as he stared down at you. “Look at you. These tits… so perfect. So fucking pretty.” His voice was rough with want, the same commanding tone. He cupped them reverently, as if they were something precious, circling your nipples until they pebbled tighter under his touch. “They’re made for my hands. For my mouth.”

He leaned down and took one nipple into his mouth, sucking it gently at first, then harder, swirling his tongue around the sensitive peak. The wet touch of his tongue made you arch into him with a moan, threading your fingers through his hair as he kept lavishing attention on your breasts. 

From one side to the other, Robby switched sides, licking and sucking the other while his hand massaged the first, rolling the nipple between his fingers. The dual sensation, the tingly heat of his mouth and the firm squeeze of his callused hand, had you writhing beneath him, making you so wet you were soaking through your shorts.

The humming of his mouth against your skin sends sparks straight to your core. “So responsive,” he murmured, switching back to the first breast and sucking it harder than before. “These tits are going to ruin me. I could spend hours right here.” Sliding his free hand down your side, Robby gripped your hip possessively, continuing with the worshipping of your chest, licking broad stripes, sucking marks into the soft flesh, massaging and kneading until he had you panting and grinding up against the hard line of his cock through his pants.

The age difference between you only heightened everything, his experience was showing in every skilled touch, in every perfect flick of his tongue. He was being patient but hungry, like he’d been holding back for far too long. You could feel how hard he was, he was making you feel it, pressing insistently against your thigh. The knowledge that you did this to him made you even wetter.

Robby lifts his head briefly to lock his eyes on yours. His lips were swollen and his beard slightly damp with his saliva. “Tell me if it’s too much,” he said, but his hands never stopped, squeezing and caressing, teasing your sensitive nipples with his thumbs as he waited for your answer.

You shook your head, pulling him back down. You’d rather die than stop right now. “Don’t stop. Please.”

His mouth trailed a hot path down your sternum, over your stomach, scraping you teasinglywith his beard against your skin and leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. His hands followed strong, sliding down your sides and gripping your hips as he settled between your spread thighs. The weight of him, the sheer size and presence of this man, made your core clench with anticipation.

“These shorts have been teasing me since you walked in,” he murmured with the same steady tone he used in the pitt, but now turned intimate and commanding. Robby hooked his fingers into the waistband and slowly peeled them down your legs, taking his time as he revealed more of you. “Lift your hips for me, sweetheart. Good girl.”

You obeyed instantly, lifting your hips so he could slide the fabric off completely, leaving you in just your thin panties and the tank top. Robby smoothed his hands up your thighs, spreading them wider with gentle but firm pressure. “Keep your legs open like that,” he instructed you. “Nice and wide for me. Don’t close them unless I tell you to.”

You were already moaning softly, and he wasn’t even touching your core yet. Robby dropped his eyes to the damp spot on your panties, making the fabric cling to your pussy lips, and he let out a groan of desire and hunger. He cupped you over the fabric with one hand, pressing his palm firmly against your heated pussy while his thumb found your clit through the material and began rubbing slow circles.

“Oh god,” you moaned, twitching up your hips into his touch, seeking more of the contact. The friction was simply perfect, it was teasing, and it kept building higher and higher. Robby’s callused thumb was applying just the right pressure on your swollen nub. 

He watched your face intently through his hooded and lustful eyes as he worked you higher. “Feel good?” he asked, trying to keep his voice steady even as his own breathing grew heavier. “You’re so wet already. Soaking through these panties for me. That’s it… rock against my hand, sweetheart. Show me how much you need this.”

Your moans only grew louder and more unrestrained, as he kept rubbing your clit with precision. The fabric added a delicious layer of friction, and every circle sent sparks shooting up your body. He got you gripping the sheets, your thighs already trembling as you fought the urge to close them around his hand.

Robby leaned down to kiss the inside of one thigh, scratching your skin deliciously. “You want my mouth? Want me to taste this pretty pussy? You gonna wrap these gorgeous legs around my neck while I do it?”

“Yes,” you gasped, nodding frantically. “Please, Robby. I need it.”

He hooked his fingers into your panties and tugged them down slowly, revealing your glistening, bare pussy to his hungry gaze. “Fuck… look at you. So wet and perfect.” He kissed along your inner thighs, taking his time, brushing his lips and beard against the sensitive skin as he worked his way closer. “Wrap them around me, sweetheart. Lock your ankles behind my head if you need to. I want to feel you holding me right where I belong.”

You did exactly as he said, wrapping your legs around his broad shoulders and pressing your heels into his upper back. The position left you completely open to him, vulnerable and exposed. Robby groaned, the sound vibrating against your core as he finally leaned in.

The first lick of his tongue was broad and slow, dragging from your entrance up to your puffy clit. The sensation was overwhelming, and it made you cry out loudly, threading your fingers into his greying hair as he began to devour you with the same intensity he brought to every procedure at work. He licked and sucked with precision, alternating between long and flat strokes to tight and quick circles around your clit. 

His beard was scratching your inner thighs and outer lips in the most delicious way, adding a kind of texture that made your toes curl. “Robby… Oh fuck, that feels so good,” you moaned, rolling your hips against his mouth. 

He hummed in response, pulling back with his lips glistening with your arousal just so he could speak to you. “Tell me how it feels, sweetheart. I want to hear it.”

“So good… your tongue—oh god, your mouth, Robby. It’s driving me crazy. Don’t stop, please.”

“You’re being so good for me,” he praised, diving back in to suck your clit into his mouth, flicking it rapidly while applying suction with his lips. 

Before you could register it, he teased your entrance with two thick fingers, slowly sliding them inside you, letting your own greedy hole swallow them. Once he curled them upward to find that perfect spot, the sensation had you moaning loudly and arching off the bed. 

Robby pumped his fingers steadily, matching the rhythm of his tongue with his digits. A few moments later, he stopped again briefly, looking up at you with lust-filled eyes and shiny lips. “You’re so fucking beautiful like this. Spread open for me, taking my fingers so well. This pussy is perfect, made for me. Keep moaning for me. Let me hear how much you love my mouth on you.”

You obeyed, your moans spilling freely as he returned to his task with renewed hunger. The pleasure built fast and faster, making your thighs tremble around his head and your feet dig into his back as you held him exactly where you needed him. Robby gripped your hip with his free hand, holding you steadily while he worked you closer and closer to the edge with expert skill. Every command, every praise, every flick of his tongue pushed you higher. 

Robby didn’t relent, he kept his mouth latched onto your clit, sucking with rhythmic pressure, devouring you like a man starved. “Robby—oh fuck, yes!” The pleasure was overwhelming, every single nerve ending in your body was alight as he worked you higher. 

“Keep those legs open for me, sweetheart,” he growled against your clit. “Don’t you dare close them. I want to feel you squeezing around my fingers while I eat this pretty pussy.” He added a third finger slowly, stretching you wider, the burn blending perfectly with the pleasure. “That’s it… take three for me. Feel how full you are? You’re doing so well. Such a good girl taking everything I give you.”

The wet sounds of his fingers plunging into your dripping pussy and his mouth sucking hungrily on your clit filled the air. You were soaking his beard, his chin, his wrist, but he didn’t care. Robby slid a hand under you, grabbing a firm handful of your ass and lifting your hips slightly off the bed. The new angle let him bury his face even deeper, working your clit with more precision while he fingerfucked you harder. “Just like that,” he praised you between licks. “Grind on my tongue, baby. Use my mouth. Show me how bad you need to come.”

You obeyed helplessly once again, rolling your hips and bucking them against him as the coil in your belly tightened unbearably. The pleasure built in powerful waves until your thighs started to shake violently around his head. Robby kept talking you through it, pushing you closer to the edge.

“You’re getting so close, aren’t you? I can feel this tight pussy clenching around my fingers. Come on, let go. Cum all over my tongue. I want to taste it. I want to feel you fall apart for me.”

The orgasm crashed over you with blinding intensity, making your back bow off the bed, a loud and broken cry tearing from your throat as your pussy spasmed hard around his digits. Your thighs were squeezing his head tightly, your heels digging into his back as wave after wave of pleasure ripped through you. Robby didn’t stop though, he kept sucking your clit through the peak, curling and thrusting his fingers to draw out every last shudder.

You came harder than you ever had. So hard that your vision went white for a moment as the pleasure bordered on overwhelming. Your moans turned into whimpers as the orgasm slowly ebbed, leaving you limp and gasping on the bed.

Robby finally eased back, gently lowering your hips and kissing softly along your inner thighs. He looked up at you with dark and satisfied eyes. “That’s my girl,” he murmured. “So beautiful when you cum for me.”

You lay there panting, your thighs were still twitching, completely wrecked and already aching for more of him. Robby climbed back up your body, kissing you deeply so you could taste yourself on his tongue. He was so close that his hard cock was pressing insistently against your thigh through his pants. 

“That was… amazing,” you whisper with your voice hoarse from moaning. “So much better than I ever imagined.”

Robby chuckled softly, the sound warm and genuine against your neck as he pressed a kiss there. “Yeah? Better than your hand?” His eyes were sparkling with lust. 

You laughed breathlessly, nodding. “So much better. Your mouth… God, Robby. I’ve never felt anything like that.”

He hummed in satisfaction, grinding his still-clothed erection slowly against your bare, sensitive pussy. The thick ridge of his cock was being pressed perfectly against your clit, giving him some much needed relief while teasing you both. “I loved doing that for you,” he murmured. “You were so good for me, sweetheart. So responsive, so wet. The way you moaned my name and squeezed my head with those pretty thighs… fuck, you have no idea what you do to me.”

Robby rolled his hips deliberately, the friction making you whimper and arch up into him. You could feel how achingly hard he was and how much he’d been holding back. You slid up your hands down his chest, feeling the soft flesh beneath his shirt.

“I want you,” you breathed, looking up at him with need. “Please, Robby.”

He stilled for a moment, as if to pulling himself together. “Tell me what you want. Be specific.”

You bit your lip, feeling the warmth invade your cheeks. “Your cock. I want you to fuck me. I need you inside me.”

Robby let out a groan, sitting back on his knees between your spread thighs. He reached for the waistband of his sweatpants, drawing out the anticipation. You sit up slightly, eager to help, moving your fingers to tug his pants down along with his underwear.

“I’ve been dying to see you,” you confessed as you pulled his pants down his hips. He caught your wrists before you could push his boxers down.

Robby looked almost nervous, a faint flush creeping up his neck. “Wait… I, uh—” He cleared his throat, flicking his eyes away for a second. “I haven’t trimmed down there in a while. This whole night was… unexpected. I would’ve cleaned up if I’d known we were gonna end up here.”

He said it like it was something to be embarrassed about. Like it might actually make you want him less. It made you soft, you cupped his jaw, turning his face back to yours.

“Robby. Do you honestly think I give a damn about that? It’s just hair.”

He let out a self-conscious breath, still looking a little defensive. “I know. I know it’s just hair. It’s just… it’s probably a fucking jungle down there right now. You don’t have to— I mean, you don’t have to do anything if it’s too much.”

The way he was trying to give you an out was almost painfully endearing. You shook your head. “Just let me see you,” you whispered.

You slid his boxers down his thighs and freed his cock, it sprang out, thick and hard, the head flushed in a dark red with arousal. It was beautiful, so long, girthy, with a slight upward curve, prominent veins running along the shaft. Exactly like he’d warned, there was a thick, dark mat of coarse hair at the base, dense and untrimmed. He looked completely natural, it was so him, deeply masculine and unpolished.

A fresh rush of wetness slipped down your inner thighs. Your fingers twitched with the need to touch him there.

You looked up at him through your lashes “I love it,” you slowly carded your fingers through the thick hair at the base of his member. “You look so fucking hot like this. I like every single inch of you.”

Robby’s whole body shivered under your touch. “God…” he rasped as he stared down at you. “You’re gonna kill me tonight.”

Almost with instinct, you wrapped your hand around it, stroking the shaft slowly from base to tip, feeling the heat and weight of his member.

Robby hissed in pleasure, twitching his hips forward into your grip as he watched your hand move up and down his cock. “Fuck, your hand feels good,” he groaned, letting you stroke him for a while, savoring the sight of your smaller hand working his thick length, making a bead of precum leak from the tip.

After a few moments, he gently stopped you, wrapping his fingers around your wrist. “Lay back down for me, sweetheart. Keep those legs open nice and wide. Just like before.”

You obeyed, lying back against the pillows and spreading your thighs for him. Robby reached over toward the nightstand, stretching one arm past you as he pulled open the top drawer. He rummaged through it for a few seconds, before his hand closed around what he was looking for.

A moment later he sat back, a condom held between his fingers. He held it up, searching for your eyes with his. “I’ve got this if you want me to wear it.”

You shook your head, reaching up to touch his arm. “No. I want you bare. I’m on the pill.”

You both knew it might not have been the smartest option, doing it raw, with nothing between you. But there was a deep, unspoken trust between the two of you, forged through long shifts, that made you feel safe. And in that moment, that trust felt solid enough to lean on.

The hunger that had taken over both of you made anything else almost unbearable. The need to feel each other completely bare, skin on skin, heat on heat, with nothing separating you, was overwhelming.

“Fuck, you’re gonna kill me.” He tossed the condom aside, leaning down to kiss you deeply again. “You’re sure?”

“I’m sure,” you whispered against his lips. “I want to feel all of you.”

He groaned, positioning himself between your legs and nudging the thick head of his cock against your slick entrance. The anticipation felt electric, this was the culmination of over a year of longing, of hours of texts, and now all that was left was this desperate connection. Robby gripped your thighs, spreading you wider as he looked down at you with hunger.

The night is only beginning, and the way he’s looking at you promises he’s going to take his time ruining you in the best possible way.

As his cockhead was being rubbed up and down your folds, teasing your clit with every pass, coating itself with your juices, the sensation felt maddening, promising everything you’d fantasized about for so long. You whimpered, twitching your hips up instinctively to chase more contact.

“Eyes on me, sweetheart,” Robby commanded you softly, the same authoritative tone that had guided you through countless procedures was now guiding you through this. He cupped your chin gently, tilting your face so your gazes locked. “Keep looking at me the whole time. I want to see you while I fuck you.”

You nodded shakily, unable to look away even if you wanted to. Robby continued rubbing the head of his cock against your entrance, coating himself in your wetness, drawing out the anticipation until you were squirming beneath him.

“That’s it,” he whispered against your mouth. “So wet for me already. This pussy is going to take me so well. Breathe for me, relax and let me in.” He pressed forward slowly, breaching your entrance with only the tip. The stretch was immediate and intense, opening you up inch by inch as he sank deeper. Your mouth fell open in a silent moan, but you forced your eyes open, locking them on his as he watched every flicker of pleasure cross your face.

“Easy, baby,” he cooed, stroking your thigh soothingly while the other braced beside your head. “You’re doing so good. Feel how you’re stretching around me? So tight and warm… fuck, you feel incredible.”

You moaned loudly as he continued sliding in, the deliberate thrust filling you completely until he was buried to the hilt, until his hips were flushed against yours. The fullness was overwhelming, his thick cock stretching your walls like nobody had stretched you before, pressing against every sensitive spot inside you.

Robby stayed still for a moment buried deep, resting his forehead against yours as he looked straight into your eyes. “There you go. All the way in. You took every inch.” He started to thrust with deep rolls of his hips that drag his cock along your walls with exquisite friction. “Wrap your legs around me. Hold me close while I fuck you.”

You did as he said, locking your legs around his waist and digging your heels into his lower back. The new angle let him sink even deeper, and you cried out in pleasure, digging your nails into his shoulders. Robby kept talking you through it, just like he knew you liked.

“That’s my girl. Feel that? I’m hitting that spot inside you, huh?” He angled his hips slightly, grinding deep on every stroke. Robby slid one hand up to cup and squeeze your breast, rolling your nipple as he thrusted harder.

Robby moved his hand from your breast to cup your chin. His grip was gentle enough not to hurt, yet firm enough that you felt every one of his fingers pressing against the bones of your jaw. “Look at me. Don’t look away. I want to see how good my cock feels inside this tight pussy.” He tilted your face up and held it there, leaving you no choice but to meet his eyes.

And God… what a glorious sight he was. This handsome man, with his face flushed, his brow glistening with sweat, devouring you with his gaze as he kept driving his cock into you.

His face was only inches from yours, and he kept fucking you in long strokes while he held your chin like that, as if he were starving for every single expression that crossed your face. He loved watching the way pleasure wrecked you. The way your lips parted around helpless moans, the way you bit down on your lower lip only for it to slip free again with a broken sound. The way your eyes went glassy and pleading, silently begging him for more even as your body trembled around his cock. He drank it all in like a man who had been thirsty for years.

With his free hand, he gripped your waist, holding you in place so he could drive into you with more power. Every slide of his cock stretched you perfectly, dragging the fat tip along your g-spot like that was what it was made for.

“Robby—oh god, yes!” You moaned loudly, raising your hips to meet his thrust and tightening your legs around him. Your tits were bouncing with every powerful stroke, and he leaned down to suck one nipple into his mouth again, flicking his tongue as he continued fucking you.

“You feel so good,” he groaned against your skin, switching to the other breast. “So tight and wet around me. This pussy was made for my cock, wasn’t it? Taking me so deep.” His hand on your waist slid down to grip your ass, lifting your hips slightly to change the angle as he thrusted harder. “Lift your legs higher for me, sweetheart,” he said against your neck,kissing and nipping the sensitive skin there. Ronny held the back of your thigh, helping guide your leg up. “That’s it… over my shoulder. Let me get deeper.”

You whimpered as he assisted you, hooking your leg over his shoulder. He did the same with the other, folding you nearly in half beneath him. The new angle allowed him to sink impossibly deeper, until he was pressing the head firmly against that perfect spot inside you with every thrust, grinding against your g-spot relentlessly.

“Fuck—Robby, it’s so deep like this,” you moaned, fluttering your eyes shut for just a moment as the intense sensation washed over you.

“Ah-ah-ah,” he chided gently but firmly, cupping your jaw with his hand to tilt your face back to his. “Eyes on me, sweetheart. Keep them open. I want to watch you while I fuck you like this. Don’t look away.”

You forced your eyes open, locking onto his hungry gaze as he continued hammering into you. The eye contact made everything more intimate and overwhelming. The feeling of his hand leavinf your jaw and sliding down between your bodies made you shiver. Robby found your swollen clit and began rubbing tight circles in time with his thrusts.

The combined stimulation was devastating. The pleasure was burning higher in your core, so close to finally exploding. Your body was arching and squirming beneath his frame as you scratched down his back and trembled over his shoulders. Every thrust, every rub of his fingers on your clit, every moan and grunt that escaped his mouth pushed you closer to the edge.

“That’s it,” Robby groaned, never removing his sight from yours. “Look at you taking my cock so deep. You’re getting close again, aren’t you? I can feel it. Cum for me, baby. Let me feel you cum all over my cock. Keep your eyes on me when you do.”

You bowed your back off the bed as your climax took over your body. A loud cry tore from your throat as your pussy clenched rhythmically around his length. Your thighs shook violently over his shoulders and you dug your nails harder into his back when the waves of pleasure crashed through you. Robby sekpt thrusting through it, drawing out your orgasm with deep strokes and continued pressure on your clit.

“You look so beautiful when you cum for me… that’s it, sweetheart. Give it all to me. You’re being so good.”

By the time he finally slowed and gently pulled out of you, you were still trembling and gasping. Robby layed back on the bed beside you, with his cock hard and glistening with your release. “Come here, baby,” he said. “Get on top. I want to watch you ride me.”

He helped you shift positions, gripping your hips firmly to guide you as you straddled him. “Easy, sweetheart. Take your time… that’s it. Feel me right there? Let me watch you take every inch.”

You positioned the head at your slick entrance and began to sink down, inch by inch. The stretch was intense all over again, his girth opening you up as you lowered yourself onto him. Robby kept his hands still on your hips to steady you, stroking your skin soothingly while watching every expression on your face.

“Fuck, look at that,” he groaned. “You’re doing so well. Keep going… take a little more. Feel how full you are?”

Louder moans left your mouth as you sank lower, the fullness was overwhelming in the best way. Bracing your hands on his broad chest for balance, you finally took him to the hilt, resting your ass against his thighs. Robby squeezed your hips encouragingly. “Ride me. Roll your hips like that… yes, just like that.”

Whn you started moving, rolling, and grinding your hips in a steady rhythm, the pleasure built quickly. His cock was dragging along your walls as you found a rhythm that made your tits bounce and your clit grind against his pelvis.

Robby kept moving his eyes are everywhere, watching where your pussy stretched around his shaft, sliding up to your bouncing breasts, then locking onto your face. He reaches up with both hands, cupping your tits and rolling your nipples as you ride him.

“You’re so fucking beautiful. You’re doing so well, sweetheart. Keep going… faster if you want. Take what you need from me.”

Without a word, you grabbed the hem of his shirt and tugged it upward. He sat up just enough to help you pull it off, and the second the fabric cleared his head, your hands were on him.

God, you loved his body. Your moved your palm slowly over his chest, feeling the coarse hair and the thud of his heart beneath your fingertips. You dragged your hands lower, mapping the soft, rounded curve of his belly with desire. It turned you on more than any gym-honed torso ever could. As you pressed your palms into the softness, your fingers dag in gently. Then you smoothed your hands over it again and again, savoring the way it yielded under your touch.

You were mumbling praises and moans between gasps, completely lost in the sensation. “Robby… you feel so good… so deep… fuck, I love your cock inside me…”

At one point, Robby planted his feet firmly on the bed, bent his knees, and started thrusting up to meet you. The change felt devastating, he was now fucking you from below with powerful strokes that made you cry out loudly as he droveinto you. 

The slap of skin on skin grew louder when the slamming into you intensified. “Fuck—Robby!” you moaned, letting your head fall back as the pleasure overwhelmed you.

“Eyes on me if you can, sweetheart,” he growled, moving his fingers down to rub your clit again. “I’m getting close. You feel too good. You’re gonna make me cum.”

You were a moaning and squirming mess on top of him, riding and grinding as he thrusted up harder. His fingers on your clit and his cock hitting deep pushed you toward another peak, but it was his impending orgasm that had you focused on him.

“I’m gonna cum,” he groaned, snapping his hips up faster. “Fuck—can I cum inside you? Please, I want to fill you up.”

“Yes,” you gasped, riding him desperately. “Cum inside me, Robby. I want it. Fill me up. Please—”

With a deep groan, Robby thrusted up hard one last time and came, pulsing nside you, flooding your pussy with thick and warm ropes of cum. He held you down on him, gripping your hips tightly as he emptied himself completely. The feeling of him cumming inside you, fully claiming you, triggered your own smaller orgasm, making your walls clench rhythmically around his pulsing cock.

You both stayed locked together, panting. Robby stroked your back and thighs as you came down from the high befor pulling you down against his chest, kissing your forehead, keeping his cock still buried deep inside you as his release slowly leaked out around him, so much that you could feel the hot nd sticky evidence of his climax.

There were no more walls, just the two of you, finally giving in to everything you’ve both wanted and repressed for so long. You stayed draped on top of Robby for a long stretch of time, both of you catching your breath as the intensity slowly ebbed. Eventually, you lifted your head and looked at him. “That was… amazing. I wouldn’t even have dreamed that it’d be that good.”

He hummed in agreement, continuing his soothing path along your back. “It was. Better than I let myself imagine. You felt perfect.”

The praise made a warm feeling bloom in your chest. After a few more quiet moments, Robby gently helped you sit up, easing you off his cock with a shared sigh. You both winced slightly at the loss of connection and the feeling of emptiness, but he pulled you down beside him on the bed, wrapping his arms around you again as you cuddled into his side.

“So… you don’t regret it, do you?”

He met your eyes as a small smile began tugging at his lips beneath the beard. “Right now? I can’t regret having amazing sex with you. My mind is still somewhere up in the clouds.” He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. “I don’t know what will happen tomorrow when reality hits, but tonight… no regrets.”

You nestled closer, throwing one leg over his. The cuddling felt easy, natural, like you’d been doing this for years. For tonight, the outside world, the hospital, the guilt, the what ifs didn’t exist. There was only the two of you, and Robby might be right about reality hitting tomorrow, but right now, in the darkness of his room, everything felt right.

A/N: Two attempts at posting this fic, and two times Tumblr’s stupid AI mistakenly flagged it😭 I’ve spent days trying to figure out what was causing the problem and doing everything I could to finally get this fic posted for all of you. So if you’re reading this, it means it worked. Hopefully.

If you end up enjoying the fic, I’d really appreciate it if you could help me share it with a reblog (only if you enjoyed the fic) cause I’ve put a lot of work on it

Well, I hope you enjoyed this little something I worked on when inspiration finally struck me. I don’t know if I read it somewhere or if we all collectively decided it, but Robby absolutely feels like the type of guy who talks you through it. You’re telling me the man who spends all day teaching med students and residents how to do procedures wouldn’t also be guiding his girl in bed? It’s literally in his nature!!! This TikTok also got me inspired because, yes, he absolutely looks at you through it too.

I also think Robby’s canon texting style is weirdly inconsistent. In that scene in season one where he’s texting Jake, sometimes he starts messages with capital letters and sometimes he doesn’t. Sometimes he ends sentences with a period, sometimes he doesn’t. In my head, he has perfect grammar but deliberately tries to sound Gen Z and chill when he’s texting someone younger than him lol. Anyway, I tried to replicate that here too.

Thank you all so much for your patience. I really appreciate it, and I hope I can stick around for good this time🩷

It was a typical Tuesday night. Nearing around 11pm. You sighed, treading down the hall, back towards where your dorm is. Your slippers lazily scraped across the floor, not being bothered enough to fully pick up your feet with each step. You held your towel in one hand, drying your hair as you walked, humming a quiet tune to yourself. The other hand held your overflowing shower caddy.

You preferred showering late at night. The bathrooms were quiet. You were able to actually take your time, not having to rush through your routine.

As you turned the corner you noticed the door to the men’s bathroom was cracked, a soft warm light shining through. You didn’t think anything of it. As you got closer you could hear faint noises coming from inside. You ignored it, too tired to care. Just as you were about to pass it, the sound of muffled moans stopped you in your tracks.

Keep walking. Keep walking.

Your feet betrayed you and began stepping towards the door before you could stop yourself. Your heart began pounding as the noises grew louder the closer you got. You peeked through and what you saw was enough to make your stomach drop.

There stood your best friend, Steve, planted in front of the bathroom mirror. The room was foggy. The air thick and filled with steam from a hot shower. His hair was dripping wet, causing beads of water to fall down to his bare skin and onto the floor.

Your eyes raked down his body. He has one hand on the counter in front of him keeping his balance. His basketball shorts were pulled down in the front just enough so that his other hand could pull and jerk at his aching, leaking cock.

You watch as his head falls back with a quiet moan as he strokes for his own pleasure. The sight has your jaw slacked. Weak. You feel weak. You know this is wrong. You shouldn’t be standing here watching him. Watching your best friend in such a vulnerable state.

And yet, your feet don’t move. They don’t even try. Your stomach tightens. You feel yourself squeezing your legs together to try and subside that stupid annoying feeling that’s happening inside you.

You always knew Steve was good looking. You’re not blind. But you never actually thought about him like this.

You don’t actually know how you never looked at him like this before. I mean…jesus. It was like you were in a trance. His wet hair, the way his eyebrows knitted together and his eyes shut tight. The way his stomach was twitching from the sensations he was causing himself. The occasional flex of his bicep while he jerked himself off.

His hand moved at a steady pace. You almost fell to your knees when he let out a quiet soft whimper of a moan as he worked higher towards his tip.

Oh my god.

Then of course. The universe decided to play its own version of a sick joke on you. Before you could react or even register what was happening, your shower caddy decided right now was the perfect time to finally give out. All of your shower products flew out of the basket and onto the floor with a loud bang.

Steve’s head whipped towards the sudden noise, his eyes immediately finding you. You froze. You looked at all the bottles on the floor and then back at him. Then back at the bottles….then back at him again. What exactly are you supposed to do in this situation?

“I—um—I—sorry I was just—“ you stumble over your words, unable to find anything to say that could possibly make this situation better. You look anywhere but at him, too humiliated to even glance in his direction. “I um…I’m sorry. I didn’t see—“

“Shh, hey it’s okay.” he finally spoke. You were terrified. What he said next was the opposite of what you expected. “Can you help me?” he asked.

Your breathing hitched. You almost choked on your own spit, your body tensing immediately. It’s almost like the world was put on mute. All you can hear is the deep drum of your heart beat. A shiver runs down your spine and you can literally feel your throat close up, struggling to get any words out.

What the fuck? What the actual fuck is going on?

You should leave. You should grab your things off the floor and lock yourself in your room and never come out again. Maybe even transfer schools and forget this ever happened.

That’s not what you do though. Instead, without even realizing it, you find yourself nodding your head to his question.

He speaks again, “C’mere.” His voice was quiet and soft. It was laced with traces of need and want. Maybe even some desperation.

You exhale shakily, setting down the rest of your things. You slowly step into the bathroom, shutting the door behind you. He watches you carefully, as you start to inch towards him nervously.

“I—How do you want—?”

“Get behind me. Can you do that for me? Please?”

Normally you’d be embarrassed by how fast you complied. But right now you couldn’t care less. Your whole body feels like it’s on fire and that’s all you can focus on. Along with the ache between your thighs.

You swallowed hard, your throat feeling dry and heavy. He could see the nerves in your body language. Feeling it radiating off of you.

“Hey, s’okay. I got you.” he looked at you through the fogged mirror, unable to make out any features. “S’just me, mkay? Your best friend. Your Steve.” He reached behind himself, grabbing your hand and rubbing it gently. An attempt to calm your nerves. “Need your help so bad. Would you be a good friend and help me?”

You nod, nervously. You lift your hands to his shoulders, letting them trace gently down his arms all the way to his wrists. Your movements are slow and unsure. You feel him shiver underneath your touch, only to melt into it once your hands find their way to his bare chest. Your fingers gliding over top of his chest hair.

The second he melted into your touch it was like all nervousness left your body. Without a second thought you leaned forward, placing a gentle kiss on his shoulder. He exhaled in pleasure, biting his lip to stifle a moan when your hands rubbed up and down his body.

“Been thinkin’ ‘bout this for so long. ‘Bout you.” he spoke through deep breaths.

The heat in your stomach only grew at his words. The fresh panties you were wearing were certainly growing wetter by the second.

You pulled your arms back, causing him to frown. The sound of you spitting in your hand quickly replaced that frown with a lazy smile. Your left hand wrapped around his torso, running up and down his chest while your other hand found its way to his aching cock.

He hissed the second you grabbed onto him, squeezing with just the right amount of pressure. Your hand finally began to move up and down his length. You started off slow, teasing, pulling a quiet “fuck” from his lips.

Your free hand roamed all over his chest and stomach, wanting to feel every inch you could reach. Keeping your movements slow, you placed a trail of kisses all over his upper back, causing a deep exhale to escape his lips. You squeezed slightly tighter, a real moan finally coming out.

Music to your ears.

It was right then that you stopped holding back. All you wanted was to hear that sound over and over again. The sound of your best friend completely at your mercy. Weak over your touch.

You picked up your pace, your hand moving up and down in a corkscrew motion. His head fell backwards, landing on your shoulder. The bathroom was quickly filled with sounds of his erratic moans and the sound of you jerking him off.

“Doin’ so good—fuck—makin’ me feel so good.” he spoke in between moans.

“Yeah?” you smiled, watching his face scrunch tight through the mirror in front of you two.

You kept a steady rhythm, not too fast, not too slow. His noises and little twitches encouraging you to finally ask what’s been on your mind since he said it. “You said you’ve been thinking about this? You and me?”

“Mhm, ahh fuck.” he leaned into your touch, trying to steady himself. “You came over one day—shit go faster. Please, please go faster.” a loud moan rippled through the bathroom. “You were wearing that one skirt—“

Before he could finish his sentence, your hand reached the top of his shaft, right underneath his tip. He jolted in your hands, a literal whimper escaping from his mouth.

Your lips immediately quirked up into a wide smile, knowing you’d just found his spot. “That feel good?” you ask, keeping your movements focused on that one spot.

“Ahh—fffuck yes.”

“The skirt. Tell me about the skirt.”

“The short black one—“ he struggled to talk coherently, his breathing growing heavier as he reached his climax. “—you came over wearing it. Dropped your keys—m’so close.”

“I know, I know. Deep breaths, you can do it. Keep tellin’ me.”

“Y-you bent over to pick em up. Your little pink panties on complete display f’me.”

Your face reddened. You don’t even remember that.

“Ever since then, been wanting to get my hands on you.”

His words made your knees weak. Like actually weak. You suddenly felt like jelly. Your core clenching around nothing, begging for some kind of relief.

Your arm was burning but that didn’t stop you from going faster, determined to get him to his release.

After a few more moans and curses, Steve threw his head back once again, landing on your shoulder. A loud, breathless moan ripped through him as his come shot all over your hand and his stomach. But you didn’t stop there. You kept your movements going up to his tip, wanting to hear those whimpers from earlier.

He cried out, knees buckling. You stepped back, his sudden body weight almost knocking the both of you over. You didn’t dare stop.

“Ahh fuck I can’t—“ he whined loudly.

You paid extra close attention to where his shaft and tip met, rubbing up and down in tiny movements. He was putty in your hands. He tried to talk but nothing coherent could come out. The overstimulation too much.

Only when a second orgasm ripped through him did you finally stop. He was completely and utterly spent. His chest heaved, struggling to catch his breath.

You released him from your grasp, bringing your hand up to your mouth. He turned around and watched with awe as you licked his come off each of your fingers until your hand was clean.

With wide eyes and dilated pupils he finally spoke, “Jesus fucking christ.”

You smiled. Before you could say anything he grabbed you by your waist, pulling you close. “C’mere, it’s your turn.”

But then high school happened. High school—where Steve had slipped into the popular crowd with ease while you remained in the shadows. Where Steve went to parties while you stayed home to do extra credit.

You slowly felt him slipping away from you. He stopped sneaking in through your bedroom window to watch R rated horror movies that he had stolen from his parents VHS collection, he stopped knocking on your door in the morning to take you to school and he didn’t come to the annual trip to the lake house the summer after freshman year, opting to stay home and throw a massive party instead.

You told yourself it was fine—that you were just growing apart but you’d eventually find your way back to each other.

But then in your sophomore year, he invited you to one of his parties and your friendship came crashing down over a game of truth or dare.

You had never seen the Harrington house look so messy.

The front yard was littered with beer bottles and red solo cups, there were several smashed glasses in the kitchen and you swore you even saw a couple rolls of toilet paper hanging from the chandelier in the foyer. 

All you could think as you sat on the couch in the basement, squeezed between Steve and a very intoxicated Carol was that you hoped for Steve’s sake that Elizabeth and Danny Harrington never saw their house in this state. You were pretty sure Steve would be grounded for life if they did.

You felt Steve shift beside you as he leaned back to take a long swig from his beer, eyes flickering over to you briefly before he looked away.

You weren’t entirely sure why Steve had invited you to his party, he had hardly said a word to you all evening and you felt like some pathetic lost puppy waiting for him to come back to you. You had a feeling that he had only invited you to alleviate some of the guilt he may have felt for ditching you last week to hang out with Tommy but you were beginning to wish that he hadn’t asked you at all. Parities were not at all your thing but you had wanted to try because it was Steve and your feelings for him made you do things you didn’t want to do sometimes. Especially when he looked so stupidly handsome in that green shirt of his.

“Are you sure you don’t want a drink?” Steve asks you with a gentle nudge of your arm. The subtle contact sends a jolt through you and you have to force yourself to act natural as you turn to look at him.

“No, thank you, I’m—”

“—of course she doesn’t want a drink,” Carol slurs from beside you, leaning over you to talk to Steve. You shrink backwards against the couch, mostly to put a little distance between you and Carol and the smell of vodka coming from her that was almost overwhelming. “She hasn’t—” she hiccuped. “She hasn’t drank all—” she hiccuped again. “All night. She’s such a square.”

You don’t say anything but you feel your face grow hot in embarrassment as Carol talks about you like you weren’t sitting right next to her. The worst part was that Steve didn’t even stick up for you. You hate the fact you weren’t surprised by that. 

Your leg begins to bounce, you were trying to quickly think of an excuse to leave. Not that you really needed one, Steve didn’t seem particularly bothered by your presence.

“Steve, I need to—”

The sound of jeering cuts you off and the words quickly die on tongue as Tommy and a few more of Steve’s friends stumble down the basement stairs.

All you wanted to do was leave but Tommy was already squeezing himself between you and Carol and you had no choice but to move closer to Steve, your thigh pressed against his and his arm flush against yours.

The uncomfortableness you felt was churning horribly in your gut, your leg was still bouncing nervously and yet, Steve didn’t say anything. He didn’t even ask if you were okay, despite his legs lingering on your knee as it bounced anxiously.

“Who’s up for a game of truth or dare?” Tommy asks, one arm slung around Carol while the other nudges you with a gleeful smile. “Maybe it’ll get Little Miss Goody Two Shoes over here to loosen up a little.”

“Tommy, let’s not—” Steve begins but the laughter around the room cuts him off. He glances at you, as though he was trying to reassure himself that you were fine—that this was fine.

You watched as Steve’s friends dared each other to take a shot of hot sauce, to strip off their clothes and jump naked into Steve’s pool. Your stomach turned as you heard them ask each other the most intrusive questions about each other's sex life and at parts, even Steve laughed.

And then, it was your turn.

You shifted uncomfortably, Tommy’s elbow digging into your ribs as you looked to Steve for help. But he was too busy smiling over at one of the cheerleaders to even register your discomfort.

“Truth,” you say finally, figuring that it was the safest option. At least then they couldn’t dare you to skinny dip in the pool.

“Are you a virgin?” Carol asks you bluntly.

Your face warms, the answer is written on your face and all you wanted was for Steve to notice your discomfort, for him to help—

“I take that as a yes,” Carol mutters audibly as some of Steve’s friends laugh, making your face feel as though it was burning from shame. “Not surprised by that—”

“—Carol,” Steve says in a half arsed attempt to rein his friend in as you shift in your seat once again, your eyes flickering down to your lap as you avoid eye contact with everyone in the room.

“What?” Carol asks Steve as Tommy struggles to keep in his laughter beside you. “I wasn’t trying to—”

“—could you just—”

“—oh c’mon, Steve. We just wanna get to know her. S’only fair. You lost your v card last month so we were just curious about hers.”

Your entire body turns cold. Everything around you blurs, you feel a strange mix of feeling both too hot and too cold as you turn to look at Steve—who you find was already looking at you. Of course you were jealous, of course you were upset about Steve losing his virginity to someone who wasn’t you and of course it felt as though someone had twisted a knife in your gut at the mere thought of it. But it wasn’t just that—it was also the fact he hadn’t told you about it. It made that distance you had felt between you and Steve feel too loud to ignore. 

“Oh, are you jealous?” Tommy asks, nudging you as he takes note of the look on your face with glee. “You see that, Stevie? She’s jealous she didn’t get there first—”

“—dude,” Steve interrupts, the tips of his ears turning red as he looks away from you. “Don’t be a dick.”

Despite the fact that Steve had finally stood up for you, you couldn’t help but feel it was half hearted. Almost as though Steve’s heart wasn’t really in it, as though he was more concerned about what his friends would think of him than whether or not they were making you uncomfortable.

Tommy shrugs, the slight smirk tugging on his lips that told you he was absolutely not done being a dick.

“Fine. Whatever,” Tommy mutters with a quick glance your way that Steve doesn’t catch. “Your turn then, Steve.”

There was a brief pause where Steve didn’t say anything. You could feel his eyes on you and for a moment, you wondered if he was about to ask you if you wanted to leave, if he was finally going to put you before his stupid friends. But then Steve shifted beside and you knew that he had looked away.

“Dare,” he says.

You knew almost instantly that Tommy or Carol was going to give him a dare that would somehow upset you. Perhaps he’d dare Steve to make a move on that cheerleader right in front of you, maybe they’d even go upstairs and—

“I dare you to kiss the person sitting to your right,” Tommy says, a cruel smile tugging at his lips as he watches Steve’s expression shift. Because the person sitting to Steve’s right—was you.

The first thing that you registered in response to Tommy’s dare was the laughter from his and Steve’s friends, it was Carol’s small glance towards you and the way Steve had gone completely still beside you.

“No,” Steve says simply without even so much as a glance towards you. “Not her. No way.”

The way he said, the finality in his voice made something stir in your gut. Shame, embarrassment, humiliation—you weren’t sure. Perhaps it was a sick connotation of all three that was stirring in your stomach.

Not her, he had said. Like you were the very last person he would ever want to kiss, as though kissing you was in some way repulsive, even. The laughing didn’t help, Steve’s friends muttering to each other about your inexperience made it worse and all the while—Steve Harrington, your best friend since you were five years old, didn't say a damn thing.

And that was your breaking point.

You stand up from the couch, your legs feeling wobbly despite the fact you had only drank lemonade all evening. Your entire body felt hot from embarrassment but now also from the anger that was beginning to rear its ugly head. The anger you had felt towards Steve that you had quietly buried after months of him letting you down, months of cancelled plans, months of him putting his desire to be liked over his friendship with you. You suddenly felt so angry that your hands shook slightly and you knew you had to leave because you were seconds away from bursting into tears.

“Oh, look how upset she is Steve,” Carol cooes cruelly, gleefully watching you as Tommy tries (and fails) not to laugh. “She looks like she’s going to—”

“—fuck you, Carol,” you spat, white hot anger burning through you now as you turn to look at Steve a final time. You see the panic settle in his eyes as he half rises to his feet—before you walk away from him—walk away from him and his stupid friends, his stupid hair and his stupid handsome face.

You push through the sea of bodies that had congregated in Steve’s living room, not caring that someone had smashed one of Elizabeth’s priceless vases or the fact that there was a large stain in one of the rugs. All you cared about was getting out of Steve’s house and as far away from him as possible. 

You were almost successful. You were halfway down his driveway when the sound of Steve calling out your name as he stumbled after you reached your ears.

“Wait—” he calls out, almost frantic as he manages to catch up with you, his fingers slipping around your wrist in an effort to stop you from leaving. “Let me just—”

“—just what, Steve?” You snap, unable to keep the anger and hurt out of your voice as you turn to face him fully. You almost wish you hadn’t because the look on his face was so desperate that the thought of pulling away from him almost hurt.

“I just—I didn’t mean it like that,” Steve says quickly, his chest heaving as he looks back at you. In all the years he had known you, of all the years of friendship he had only seen you angry once before. That time you had spent all day making cupcakes for a bake sale just for Steve to accidentally drop an entire batch of the perfectly iced cakes. You had been so annoyed at him you didn’t talk to him for almost two days.

But that was nothing—nothing—compared to the look on your face as you stare at Steve and wait for him to explain himself.

“It’s not that I don’t want to kiss you, I just—”

“—oh my god, do you seriously think I’m pissed off about the dare?” You ask, unable to keep the anger out of your voice as you wrench your arm away from him.

Steve looks slightly hurt at the loss of contact and opens his mouth to respond but you’re quick to cut him off. “I don’t give a fuck about the dare, Steve. If the thought of kissing me grosses you out then it—it’s whatever.”

“But I—”

“—I’m pissed because—because you let your ‘friends’ treat me like shit and you didn’t say a damn thing about it!”

Steve looks stunned and that only makes the anger coursing through you grow hotter.

“I tried but they—”

“—well, you didn’t fucking try hard enough!” you exclaim angrily, your voice breaking as the first of your tears started to fall. You felt pathetic, humiliated as tears spilled down your cheeks but most of all—you were heartbroken that your best friend and the guy you were head over heels in love had become a stranger to you.

Something in Steve’s expression shifts at the sight of your tears. His face softens as he says your name and takes a tentative step closer but you step back. The dejected look on his face when he realises you had stepped away from him seemed to break something in you.

“I wasn’t thinking,” he tried to explain and you could almost feel his panic—the way he was looking at you, the way his fingers twitched as though he wanted to reach for you. “I didn’t think they’d go that far—”

“—but they did and you didn’t s-stop them,” you say, your bottom lip quivering slightly as you harshly wipe away your tears with the sleeve of your cardigan. 

“I’m so—”

You knew he was about to say sorry—you knew it by the look on his face and you knew that if he did, that you would want to forgive him. The way you had forgiven him for every other transgression over the past few months because he was your best friend and you loved him. 

And so, you had to stop him before you forgave him once more.

“—you’re a coward, Steve,” you say in a voice laced with anger, hurt and every emotion you had been bottling for the past few months while Steve Harrington quietly forgot about you. “You’re a coward and I don’t want to be your friend anymore.”

The silence that greeted your words was one of the loudest you had ever heard.

You weren’t even sure if you meant it but you couldn’t take it back now.

Steve looked as though his entire world had come crumbling down around him, as though your words had been a dagger that you had driven directly through his chest. You knew it would hurt him, you knew it would upset him and perhaps that was exactly why you had said it.

“Oh,” Steve says thickly, swallowing a lump that had risen in his throat as he looked back at you, his big, puppy dog-like eyes almost pleading with you to take back the words that had just left your lips. “I—I see.”

I see. That was all he had to say. After well over a decade of friendship, after years and years of always having your back, years of ‘I’ll always be here’ and seeing each other's worst and best days—it would all end over two little words.

You waited. You waited for Steve to argue with you, for him to beg for your forgiveness like he had the last time you were mad at him. But he didn’t say a damn thing. 

“See you around, Harrington,” you mutter, his surname feeling foreign on your tongue as turn around and walk away from him before you could burst into tears.

And the days that followed, Steve didn’t even try to talk to you.

And so, from a distance you watched as Steve Harrington morphed into King Steve. You watched him be a completely different person, watched as he continued to surround himself with people like Tommy and Carol. You heard the parties he threw next door when his parents were out of town that carried on until the early hours or had to be shut down by cops, you heard the way girls he slept with spoke about him and eventually you heard all about him and Nancy Wheeler.

You couldn’t deny that hearing about Steve’s life through rumours hurt. Nor could you deny that the ending of your friendship had devastated you in a way that you hadn’t been expecting and that watching Steve carry on as normal, seemingly completely unaffected by the end of a decade-long friendship, hurt just as much.

You had almost knocked on his door on his birthday but had stopped yourself. You told yourself not to dwell on the past, told yourself that things changed despite the fact your feelings for Steve never seemed to waver and the fact that you still loved him despite everything.

But that all changed one night in your senior year.

You were drifting in and out of sleep, the rain hammering down outside, smacking loud against your window kept rousing you. But it wasn’t until a particularly loud smack against the glass that you finally jolted awake.

You blink, rubbing your eyes sleepily as you glance towards the window to see if it was hailing.

But you nearly scream at the sight of a shadowy figure standing on the garage roof just outside your window.

You open your mouth to yell for your mom but when you realise it was Steve Harrington—drenched to the bone, rapping his knuckles harshly against the glass—all thoughts of yelling out leave you.

Instead, you don’t move. You barely even breathe. You were in some sort of state of shock at the sight of him at your bedroom window after all these years.

You manage to stand on legs that feel wobbly and unsure of themselves, walking cautiously over your carpet and towards the window.

And when you finally see his face clearly through the window pane—at the dark bruise covering his eye, the blood spatter over his face and look of quiet desperation in his eyes, you unlock your bedroom window without much thought.

Steve stumbles into your room, water dripping down from his hair and his clothes onto your carpet. But you’re too busy gasping at the state of his face to worry about that right now.

“H-hi,” he stammers out, his teeth chattering and his cheeks slightly pink from the cold.

Hi? Was that all he had to say after years of silence? After forgetting about you like it was easy? After he didn’t fight for you?

You had the urge to yell, to scream at him but the sight of his beaten face stops you.

“Steve, your face—”

“—that bad, huh?” Steve asks, trying to smile but instead wincing in pain.

“Sit down,” you tell him, watching as Steve’s eyes flicker around your room, taking in everything that had changed over the past almost two years—the colour of your walls, the posters you had hung up, the polaroids of you and Steve you had taken down. “I um, I’ll get something for your face.”

Steve nods, wincing again as he sits down carefully on the edge of your bed, trying not to completely soak your sheets with rain water as he does so.

You take a deep breath before you turn and leave your bedroom to grab the first aid kit from your family bathroom. You’re careful to be as quiet as possible, not wanting to wake your parents who would certainly have a few questions about why your former best friend is sitting on your bed with a bruised and battered face.

You walk quietly back into your bedroom with the first aid kit in your hand to find Steve hadn’t moved from the edge of your bed. But he was holding your stuffed teddy bear in his hands—the one he had won for you at Hawkins Fair when you were twelve years old, the one he had called ‘Little Stevie’ before handing it to you with a bright smile on his face. 

You close the door softly behind you and Steve glances up, carefully placing Little Stevie back down onto your bed.

“You still have him,” Steve murmurs quietly as you sink down onto the bed beside him.

Your face warms and you hope it isn’t noticeable as you open up the first aid kit.

Truthfully, you hadn’t thrown out anything that was connected to Steve Harrington. The polaroids were tucked away safely in your jewellery box and even that shell necklace he had made you when he was seven was in a memory box in your closet. You just couldn’t bring yourself to throw anything away after the end of your friendship but you also couldn’t look at them anymore without something inside of you breaking every time you looked around your room. Little Stevie was the only thing you hadn’t put away—because truthfully, you couldn’t sleep without it.

But you don’t tell Steve that. 

Instead, you let the silence surround the two of you as you pull out several small gauze pads and antiseptic. Steve lets you work silently as outside, the rain continues to fall, the wind howls and there’s a distant rumble of thunder.

You start first by pouring a small amount of antiseptic onto a gauze pad before you gently dab it over the small gash on his cheek. He winces and hisses in pain but he doesn’t pull away.

“What happened?” You ask him quietly a few minutes later, the cuts and blood wiped from his face as you carefully inspect the bruise around his eye.

The sight makes something tighten in your chest. Though you hadn’t talked to Steve in two years, of course you heard the arguments that happened next door. Usually after one of Steve’s parties had left the Harrington home in a state. Steve had never had the best relationship with his father as Danny Harrington expected only the best from his son and Steve had never been able to live up to that, even from a young age. But though they argued, you had never thought it would escalate to something physical.

“It—it wasn’t your dad, was it?”

“No,” Steve says quickly, too quickly which makes you look at him carefully, wondering whether or not he was lying for your sake. “Really. It wasn’t my dad. I swear. It—it was Billy Hargrove."

You blink. You hadn’t been expecting that. Sure, ever since Billy Hagrove had strolled into Hawkins High like had already owned the place he and Steve had sort of rivalry going on but you weren’t aware it was bad enough for Billy to do something like this. 

“But why—”

“—it’s a long story,” Steve says, jaw tight and looking away from you briefly. 

“That’s it?” You ask him, pulling away from him as you look from his face to the bloody gauzes that sat in your lap. “You come into my room after two years of ignoring me—”

Steve’s expression falters and he says your name but you shake your head, getting to your feet and causing the first aid kit to fall to the floor at your feet.

“—no Steve, it—it’s bullshit! Okay? Do you have any idea what it was like for me to watch you slowly decide to just not give a shit about me anymore?”

Steve swallows at the sound of anger in your voice. He knew it had been coming and he knew he deserved it but he didn’t know what to say. Because there was no excuse, he knew that he had hurt you in immeasurable ways and he knew he most likely did not deserve your forgiveness. But he wanted—needed—to try anyway.

“I know I—”

“—and now you show up years later with a busted face and expect me to—”

“—I thought Billy was going to kill me tonight.”

That shuts you up. Your eyes widen and you look at Steve with a horrified expression and in your stunned silence, Steve decides to keep talking.

“I had a moment where he was landing hit after hit after hit I thought—I thought ‘this is it’ and all I could—all I could think about was—it was you.”

You’re completely taken aback, you were so stunned that you almost forgot to be angry. Almost.

“All I could think about was how—how I never got to make things right with you and how much time I wasted caring about stupid shit like being popular. Caring too much about what other people thought of me when it really didn’t matter. When I already had someone who liked me for me. And instead I—I treated you terribly, I strung you along and I should never have done that. Not to you. You didn’t deserve it.”

Your eyes stung and you had to look away, not wanting Steve to see how close to tears you were. Because the truth was that you missed him. You missed so much that it was almost a physical ache in your chest. You missed the way Steve could make you laugh even when you really didn’t want to, the way he used to sometimes snort a little when he laughed really hard and the way you could be completely yourself around him.

Steve says your name again but you don’t look at him, instead you sniffle and look down at the first aid kit you had dropped, at the various medical supplies that were now scattered over your floor.

But before you could even think about picking them up, Steve is already doing it for you. You swallow, taking the opportunity to wipe your eyes as Steve bends down, carefully putting the gauze, the bandages and antiseptic bottle back into the box.

He snaps it shut, placing the kit onto bed beside him before he finally looks back at you.

“I’m really fucking sorry,” he tells you, the sincerity in his face making your throat tighten. “For everything. For being an idiot, for trying to be someone I’m not. For letting you down, for making you feel like I didn’t give a shit about you. I’m sorry for not standing up for you that night. I’m sorry I didn’t try and fix things after and I—I’m sorry for not saying all this sooner.”

You nod, your bottom lip trembling slightly as you look back at him, slowly sinking back down onto the bed beside him. “You really hurt me, Steve.”

Steve swallows at that, his eyes turning glassy as he looks back at you. “I know. I was—a colossal idiot. There’s no excuse for it. I hurt you and I wish I could take it all back but I can’t. All I’ve wanted to do these past few years is make things right with you but—but you were right, I was a coward. I was scared—terrifed—that you hated me or—”

“—I could never hate you,” you tell him.

Steve’s eyes soften and he looks back at you with a hopeful expression.

“Really?”

You nod, flexing your fingers against your bedsheet nervously as you look at him. “Really. I was hurt, upset and I was angry but I never hated you. I don’t think I could ever hate you. Not even for a second. I just—I was worried about you. I didn’t want you to become like Tommy or whoever else you were hanging out with because I know that’s not really you.”

“I was still an asshole,” Steve says thickly, the shame evident on his face as he looks down at his lap. “I still did things and said things that hurt people and I can’t take any of it back.”

“No,” you agree quietly. “You can’t.”

It’s quiet then between the two of you—the only sound is that of the thunder rumbling outside. There’s a flash of lightning outside your window but still, neither of you say anything.

“I’m sorry too,” you tell him quietly as you look down at your lap. “For saying I didn’t want to be your friend anymore. That—that wasn’t true I just—I knew I would forgive you straight away if I didn’t.”

Steve shakes his head, corners of his mouth twitching as he hesitantly lifts a hand to rest on your shoulder. His touch alone sends something hot and electric coursing through your body. “Please don’t be sorry,” he tells you. “I should have grovelled for forgiveness and I didn’t. I was—fuck—I was such an idiot that night. I didn’t have your back the way I should have done and I’ll never forgive myself for that. For upsetting you, for making you cry, for letting people talk about you like that.”

“You have no idea how much I think about that night and hate myself for what I did and what I didn’t do. How fucking stupid I feel for letting the best thing that has ever happened to me walk away without a fight.”

You turn to look at him, your expression softening slightly. “Steve—”

“—no, I mean it,” Steve insists, turning to face you fully now as he grabs one of your hands and squeezes it gently. Water drips down from his hair and onto your skin but you couldn’t care less as his touch warms something in you. “You are and I’m sorry it took me losing you and almost dying to realise that. I was just—I couldn’t admit it to myself. I was stupid. So stupid. And I think—I think I was scared to be honest with myself.”

Your brows furrow at that while your heart pounds against your chest. “Honest about what?” You ask him quietly.

Steve looks at you for a long moment before he reaches for your other hand. You let him take it as the look in his eyes keeps you rooted to the spot. 

“That I was starting to fall in love with you and I got scared.”

All the air leaves your lungs at that admission. Out of all the things you had expected Steve to say when he climbed in through your bedroom window, you had never in your wildest dreams expected him to say that.

“I was—shit—it’s so fucking stupid now that I think about it but I just—those feelings scared the shit out of me. I mean—you were my best friend and yet, I was always fucking thinking about you. And so, I did all stupid shit to try and forget about you and it never worked. I partied, I listened to Tommy when I fucking shouldn’t have, I messed around because I thought I’d get over you.”

“I even lost my fucking virginity while wishing it was you beneath me the entire time. Nothing worked—nothing ever worked and so I—I thought distance would help but it didn’t and I let you down. I made promises and didn’t keep them. I made you think you were unimportant to me when you were the most important person in my life.”

“Steve—”

“—and that night—the night when Tommy gave me that dare—I didn’t kiss you because I was grossed out by you. God no, far from it—of course I wanted to kiss you. But I didn’t wanna do it if it was just a dare.”

“Steve—”

“—I just—I wanted it to be real and not at a party, not in front of Tommy and Carol or any one of those other assholes and—”

“Steve!”

Steve shuts up almost instantly. His eyes were wide and his hands were still holding yours tightly as though he was trying to ground himself.

You look back at him—at the guy you had loved for longer than you could remember—and you couldn’t bring yourself to be mad at him anymore.

“You know—I never threw anything away,” you tell him quietly. “I just—I couldn’t bear to look at things that reminded me of you because it hurt too much. Because missing you was like—it was like a constant physical pain. Something I couldn’t get rid.”

“Really?” Steve asks quietly.

“Yeah,” you say. “I even kept the shell necklace.”

Steve blinks once, twice before he laughs and the sound brings you the sort of warmth that even fire couldn’t ever bring you. You felt it in every pore, every nerve, every cell in your body. It made you feel lighter, made the storm outside feel insignificant.

“Why would you keep that?” Steve asks, still laughing quietly to himself. “It was so heavy and—”

“—because you made it for me,” you say simply with a small smile. “And that—that meant it was important to me.”

Steve blinks. He looks back at you with an unreadable expression as his thumb drags itself across the skin of your hand and seems to steal the air from your lungs.

“I made you it because the shells reminded me of you,” Steve murmurs fondly, eyes seeming to shine as he looks back at you. “I thought the shells were pretty and—I thought you were pretty too. Prettier than the shells, obviously.”

Your face feels hot and it was near impossible to fight back the smile on your face now.

“You told me you were practising for art class,” you say quietly, head tilting to the side as you look back at him. 

Steve smiles a little before shaking his head. “I lied. I was trying really hard to impress you but seven year old me had no game.”

You laugh then and you see the way Steve’s eyes light up, the way he can’t help but smile when he hears your laugh, when he was finally the reason behind it again.

“You didn’t have to do anything to impress me Steve,” you tell him after a moment with a soft smile. “You already did.”

There was silence again and then—

“Do you mean—”

“—yeah,” you breathe out, unable to look away from him as you squeeze his hands a little tighter. “I—I’ve been in love with you for a really long fucking time, Steve.”

The moment that follows felt as though it lasted for a lifetime. Steve was looking at you, seeming to forget how to breathe and you begin to wonder if you had been too forward when one of Steve’s hands slips out of yours to gently cup your face.

“The feeling’s pretty fucking mututal,” he murmurs before his lips seal over yours in a kiss that took your breath away.

Everything seems to slow down around you. You were vaguely aware of the first aid kit clattering to the floor as you kiss him back with no hesitation. your fingers sliding into his still damp hair while his hands gently cradle the back of your head.

You’re already breathless, unable to think of the world that existed out of Steve Harrington’s lips against yours—no thoughts about the rain splattering against the window or of the lightning that flashed across the sky outside. Because everything seems so dull in comparison to Steve’s lips moving against yours, against his hands that you were holding you like you were something sacred. 

He was the first to pull away—catching his breath as his eyes couldn’t help but flicker down to your lips that were wet, swollen and so inviting that he already wanted to dive back in again.

But he also knew he had to earn your forgiveness first and that wouldn’t involve being twisted in the sheets together.

“Let me take you out tomorrow night,” Steve murmurs, his thumb gently wiping away a smear of his saliva from your lips and trying not to give in. “Make up for lost time, yeah?”

You smile a little as you consider his offer, your eyes flickering over the bruise on his face. “Let’s wait until the bruise fades first, yeah?”

“Oh,” Steve says, trying to keep the disappointment out of his face as he looks back at you. “Yeah um, totally I—”

“—but I wouldn’t be opposed to a movie night,” you say with a small smile. “If you were to come up to my bedroom window again with a few movies I probably wouldn’t say no.”

Steve blinks but then—he smiles and he looked so devastatingly handsome that it was difficult to not pull him in for another kiss.

“It’s a date,” he tells you, leaning in to press a gentle but firm kiss to your forehead. “Little Stevie can join us too.”

You laugh and Steve can’t help but join you—thanking his lucky stars that you had opened your window for him.

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–

steve harrington hasn’t been the luckiest with love, that much is certain to anyone who has as much as glanced his way in the last four years, but, god, he’s in love with you.

he can’t quite place the exact moment he started feeling this way, all he knows is that one day he glanced over your way, met your eyes, and it felt like his entire stomach twisted inside out and his body turned to goo.

he doesn’t have a clue how it started, maybe it was the way you always seem to laugh at his jokes, or the way you huff with an eyeroll whenever murray said something a little too distasteful. it could’ve been the fact that you come into the squawk every morning with coffee for him and robin from the cafe you work at, always just the way he likes it, and you hand it off to him with a small smile every time.

it could’ve been how funny you are, or how smart, or kind, or pretty, but steve thinks it must’ve been a mix of all of those things, because he loves everything about you. it’s been almost six months of feeling this way.

and, yeah, he’s definitely in love with you.

robin groans loudly as steve watches you leave the squawk one friday morning after bringing them coffee, as per usual, giving him a glance over your shoulder and a little wave as you walked out the door.

steve raised his hand to wave back, a dumb smile making it’s way onto his face easily before you slip from view, and he sighs.

robin shakes her head disapprovingly, murmuring under her breath, and steve looks away from the glass front doors and over at her.

“what was that, buckley?” he questions, not aggressively, but as if he’s challenging her to repeat whatever snide remark she had muttered to herself.

“all i said was, ‘god, you are pathetic, harrington.” robin repeats and steve shoots her a glare from his place by the soundboard, surrounded by tapes of different comedic sound effects.

there’s a record spinning by robin’s side, playing a song steve never would’ve picked but robin had insisted was ‘better than anything he listens to’. robin spins around on her chair to face him properly, shooting him a look from across the room.

“i mean, how long has it been steve, really? six months?” she asks and he sighs, reaching for his coffee and raising the paper cup to his lips.

“eight.” he corrects quietly before taking a sip and robin’s eyebrows shoot up.

“eight months. so you’ve been in love with her for half of this quarantine we’ve been stuck in, and the most you’ve done is smile at her a little differently?” robin shakes her head and steve scrunches his nose.

“who made you the love expert, huh? what happened to me being the one giving you advice?” he asks and she snorts.

“uh, how about the fact that i’m the one with a girlfriend here, meanwhile you’ve been pining for the better half of a year and have gotten nowhere.” robin spins around to face her microphone and adjusts a dial in front of her. “anyway, i think she’s going to eddie’s party tonight.”

“who, vickie?” steve asks and robin rolls her eyes so hard it looks like they might fall out of her head. and when robin says your name as if it was obvious, steve’s tummy fills with warmth and a smile appears on his face.

he wishes you could feel how he feels when somebody says your name. it’s almost like he’s going to be sick, but in a good way.

“really?”

“yes, dingus. maybe tonight’s your chance to work up the courage and finally say something.” robin says. “you know, confess? or, at least, ask her out.”

steve bites the inside of his lip and thinks for a moment, then groans because of course robin’s right, but he has no idea what he’d even say. he can hardly talk to you past a basic greeting or some small talk.

but then again, a party hosted by eddie means alcohol, and pot. maybe something there can help steve find the right words. no, that’s stupid.

he sighs and drops down onto his chair. “robin, i can’t do this. what if i say something and she’s just totally weirded out? i can’t risk that, it’ll kill me. like, actually, kill me.”

robin stares at him mid motion as she places a new record on one of the players, then sighs again.

“robin!” he exclaims but she quickly shushes him, holding a finger to her lips as the previous song dies down and she pulls her microphone down towards her mouth.

“goooood morning hawkins! glad you could join us on this beautiful friday morning.” robin shoots steve a glance over her shoulder and a mischievous smile slips onto her lips. “this next one goes out to my partner in crime, soundboard stevie, who’s been feeling a little lovesick as of late. who’s the lucky girl to have won steve ‘the hair’ harrington’s heart? well, we’ll have to wait and see if he has the guts to say anything to her…”

“robin!” steve hisses across the room, not caring that they’re on air, and she just giggles in response.

“take it away, olivia…” robin says and the opening to ‘hopelessly devoted to you’ by olivia newton-john fills the small sound booth. steve shakes his head and robin just grins over at him. “what?”

“what if she was listening to that, robin?” steve huffs, crossing his arms over his chest a little dramatically, similar to the way tantruming toddler would. “then what?”

“then i could be doing you a favor!” she points out but steve runs his hands through his styled hair, tugging lightly as he exhales.

“i feel like i’m going insane.” he tells her and she shrugs.

“save it for tonight.”

–

the air at eddie’s place is thick, a mix of smoke and heat from the large number of bodies filling the small house, and steve is perched on the couch between eddie and jonathan as they smoke, his eyes scanning the party, searching every face for yours. his nails dig into the denim of his jeans, and his friends seem to notice.

“what’s wrong with you, harrington?” eddie asks, holding out his blunt like an offering but steve shakes his head.

he opens his mouth to answer, but robin cuts in as she walks over with two cups and you right by her side.

steve’s mouth goes dry as he looks up at you, his eyes lingering on the cut of your shirt for maybe a moment too long before they reach your face. you’re smiling down at him.

“hi, steve.” you greet brightly and steve finds himself rubbing his palms against his thighs, like he’s wiping away imaginary sweat. he practically jumps to his feet and gives his best attempt at a charming smile. his friends all share glances behind his back.

“uh, hey,” when your name leaves his mouth, steve hears a quiet ‘oh,’ come from jonathan behind him and he’s immediately reminded that the two of you aren’t the only people in the room and, in fact, you’re standing in the middle of a party quite literally surrounded by your friends. steve awkwardly gestures toward the spot he had just been sitting in. “uh, here.”

“oh.” you stare at him for a moment and steve’s eyes flick over to robin’s in a brief moment of panic before you smile. “thanks, steve.”

“uh, yeah, sure. no problem.” he thinks he’s playing it cool, but everyone can see the way he shifts nervously on his feet.

“well, i’m getting another drink.” nancy says, standing up from her place on jonathan’s other side and pulling her boyfriend up with her. “anyone else want anything?”

“i just got a drink.” robin raises her cup. “but i’m gonna go find vickie, anyway.”

“i’ll come.” eddie jumps to his feet, winking at steve as he does so, and steve shoots robin a glare. she holds her hands up in surrender, mouthing that she didn’t say anything.

“can you guys get me a drink?” steve asks before taking jonathan’s seat on the couch and sitting down beside you. someone nods and soon the others all disappear, leaving the two of you sitting there alone.

to steve, the moment feels so right, the two of you sitting side-by-side, close enough that your legs are touching, but he also feels so wrong. his heart won’t stop beating, his stomach flips with each brush of your hand and when you look his way he forgets his train of thought.

he feels insane, worse than he had this morning, because now you’re next to him. now he’s not imagining what you’ll say if you speak to him, because right now you’re telling him about your day at work and your voice is like music to his ears.

the two of you sit there and talk for what feels like hours but was likely just 15 minutes before steve stands up.

“i’ll be back in a second.” he tells you before hurrying off, heading towards the kitchen first. he weaves his way through the sea of people filling the room, searching the house until he finds robin. she’s holed up in a corner, giggling with vickie, but still looks up when steve stops before them.

“what’s up?” she asks and he takes a deep breath, close to hyperventilating as he stares at her. he looks over his shoulder and back to where you’re sitting on the couch, giggling at something eddie’s saying as he holds two cups in his hands, one of those likely steve’s drink.

he faces robin and takes a deep breath. “how do i tell her?”

–

he’s given himself until monday morning. he’s got until monday morning to come up with a plan, because he’s going to tell you he loves you then.

the idea robin gave him is as follows, pick a song that explains how he feels about you, dedicate it to you on the squawk on monday morning, then when you come by with coffees he can actually talk to you and ask you out.

go big or go home, right?

the only issue is that steve has no idea what song to pick. it has to be perfect, it has to encapsulate exactly how strongly he feels for you, how you make him feel.

he wants you so badly that it feels like he can’t breathe when he’s away from you. his body feels like it’s been lit ablaze whenever you touch him, and he’s melting the moment your eyes meet his. you’re everywhere, even in his dreams.

he’s in love with you, he knows it. but is there even a song that can describe the way he feels about you?

steve’s been thinking, trying to come up with song ideas, while he’s been tossing and turning in his bed, unable to sleep because he can’t stop thinking about you.

he spends his entire weekend writing lists of song ideas, scanning the shelves of vinyls at the wsqk radio station for ideas, but none of them are right. none of them are perfect.

robin tells him he’s gonna regret it if he doesn’t have a song soon, the longer he waits to confess the less chance he’ll have. but how is he supposed to do this when every song he listens to doesn’t even begin to describe his feelings?

by the time monday morning comes around steve wakes up in a sweat, and not just from the summer heat.

he had a dream about you and now his boxers feel too tight. he slides a hand down, brushing against the scars healed over on his tumny, before squeezing his clothed bulge for some kind of relief.

but then he realizes. he still doesn’t have a song.

he makes it to the squawk tired, a little horny, and pissed off. and when he pushes open the glass front doors open and is immediately met with robin’s wide smile.

“so…” she starts as he drops his backpack by his chair in the booth. “today’s the day, loverboy. you got a song?”

he just groans in response, dropping down in his chair before immediately standing back up and walking out of the booth, over to the shelves of records.

“i’m taking that as a ‘no’?” robin says.

“how the hell am i supposed to do this?” he asks and robin stares at him in confusion.

“what do you mean? just pick a love song and—”

“but it can’t just be any love song, robin, it has to be perfect!” he exclaims frustratedly, hands finding their way to his hair immediately. “i feel like i’m going insane here, because the song has to be perfect, it has to tell her exactly how i feel and how in love with her i am but that seems impossible because i want her more than any stupid song could ever say and i have no idea how to explain that!”

“oh.”

the sound of a voice behind him makes steve freeze, then slowly turn around. you’re standing inside the squawk building, holding two coffees in your hands, and staring at him with wide eyes, like you just witnessed something you shouldn’t have.

“uh, hey.” steve slips a hand into his pocket in an attempt to seem casual. “i, uh, didn’t realize you were… you’re– you’re early.”

“yeah.” you say, and your eyes shift over to robin. “uh, robin asked me if i could come by a little earlier today…”

steve shoots her a glare over his shoulder and she just shrugs, walking towards you and asking which coffee is hers. then she takes it, thanks you, and leaves the room saying, “i’ll leave you two alone.”

the silence is awkward immediately. steve’s panicking internally, and you’re just watching him.

“so, uh, how much of that did you hear?” he asks and you chuckle.

“well, all of it.” you reply. “i was kinda pulling into the driveway when you got here. i think you might’ve been just a little distracted.”

“right.” steve nods and you do the same, a little awkwardly, before you step forward and hold out his drink. “yeah, thanks.”

he takes the coffee and stares down at it. he has to say something now. he has to.

“lucky girl.” you speak first and he looks back up at you.

“hm?” he looks puzzled.

“the girl you were talking about.” you clarify. “the one you said you were in love with. you know? ‘i want her more than any stupid song could say’? she sounds lucky. you’re a good guy, steve.”

you give him a small smile, different to the one you usually give him, this one’s sadder, and it takes steve a moment to process exactly why as you turn back towards the front doors.

“she’s you!” he blurts out and you spin around.

“what?” you stare at him, you blink once, and steve feels sick.

“you’re the… the ‘lucky girl’ you were talking about.” steve swallows before setting his coffee cup down and walking over to you. “i’m in love with you. i love everything about you, and i’ve just been scared to tell you for months because i don’t want to ruin anything between us. i was gonna do this thing, robin said to, you know, dedicate a song to you on the radio but…”

you haven’t said a word the entire time he’s been talking, but you also aren’t running and screaming, so that’s a good sign.

“not a single stupid song can even scratch the surface of how i feel about you.” he says, and then he waits. he watches you carefully, and you don’t give him a reaction. 

then a smile cracks through your features and relief floods steve’s body.

“well, that’s very lucky for me.” you chuckle breathily. “you know, considering the fact i’m in love with you, too.”

“really?” he asks and you nod rather enthusiastically.

“you kinda make it hard not to.” you confess and he just grins. “i mean, you’re funny, brave, kind, i mean, you’ve definitely grown up a lot since high school and, well, you’re hot.”

he laughs, dragging a hand through his messy brown hair before looking back down at you, your eyes meeting. “so are you.”

a soft chuckle escapes your lips and a moment later you’re both just standing there and staring at each other, now closer than before. steve reaches out to carefully grab your waist.

“can i kiss you?”

“yes.” you say as if it’s obvious and steve’s mouth connects with yours within seconds, probably setting some kind of record with that speed. your hands slide up his body immediately, one gripping his shoulder while the other slides around his neck.

steve pours his entire heart into it, melting into you, moulding into something that’s yours and only yours. he’s not thinking of anything else, just the warmth of your body against his hands and the feeling of your lips on his.

he lifts one hand from your waist to cup your cheek instead, pulling back slightly just to kiss you again, aiming a little higher so he can take your entire upper lip into his mouth.

it’s uncertain exactly how long the two of you just stand there kissing, but the sound of a hand slamming against glass is enough to break you up.

steve looks over to see robin in the soundbooth, tapping her wrist to mimic a watch while saying something neither of you could hear through the walls. looking down at his watch, steve realizes he’s got about five minutes until they’re supposed to be on air.

“shit, i gotta go.” he groans and lowers his wrist. your arms are still linked around his neck. “can i take you out on a date tonight?”

“mm, no.” you say and he frowns. “i think we should skip that step and you should ask me to be your girlfriend.”

the frown disappears just as quickly as it had appeared and steve chuckles. “will you be my girlfriend?”

“yes, of course.” you reply, clearly trying your hardest to hold back a smile and stay composed. steve doesn’t hide his own smile.

“great.” he leans forward and kisses you once more before stepping back, closer to the door to the soundbooth. “i’m gonna pick you up from work later, alright?”

“yeah, alright.” you smile and he nods, opening the door. “steve.”

he turns back quickly. “yeah?”

“your coffee.” you gesture to the cup he had set down a moment earlier and he hurried over to grab it.

“thanks, honey. i’ll see you later, yeah?” he calls out as you head for the door. “i love you!”

“i love you, too!”

steve closes the soundbooth door and takes his place in his chair before he looks over at robin, who’s staring at him with an ‘i told you so’ expression. he gives her a shrug and she rolls her eyes before they’re on air.

“good morning, hawkins! this is wsqk 94.5 fm, ‘the squawk’ and i am your dj, rockin’ robin, and ladies and gentlemen, love is in the air this morning because our very own soundboard stevie has made a move! that’s right, folks, steve’s got a girlfriend. so, to celebrate the very new relationship we’re starting this morning off with a little love song…”

steve queues up a sound effect, but even robin’s teasing and antics can’t wipe the smile from his face.

–

a/n: just a little oneshot before i start posting my new series ahh!!! hope u guys like this one i think it's cute. everyone should go listen to 'you seem pretty sad for a girl so in love' by olivia rodrigo right now!!!

you told yourself this was like any other acting gig. sure, you hadn’t had many, you were still starting out. but your were going to be joining a show you had watched since the beginning in its fourth season as a new character. the stakes felt high.

your character, katherine miller, was the new girl in hawkins. already, you related to her. you just hoped that, like catherine, you weaved your way into the group seamlessly.

when you showed up to the table read, you thought you were going to puke from nerves. but, to your surprise, that feel disappeared the second you walked intro the room.

never had you met such a kind and welcoming group of people. they instantly made you feel like you had been there the entire run of the show.

you thankfully got along instantly with maya and joe, who you’d share most of your scenes with, turning their on screen duo into a trio.

what surprised you the most was joe. he was the first one to approach you, the first to invite you to dinner with the core group, the first to fill you in on any inside joke thrown around.

joe was just a good guy. the kind of good no one believed existed anymore. the kind that seems unattainable, that lived only in female written romance novels.

it was overwhelming, really. you sometimes had to discreetly pinch yourself when spending time with him.

which you did a lot of.

you sort of had to. your character, katherine (or as steve so lovingly called her, kat), was not only the newest addition to the monster hunting group in season four. but she was also the new love interest of steve harrington. one meant to put an end to the tired love triangle between him, nancy, and jonathan.

though, hanging out with joe never felt forced or strictly professional. the two of you had a lot in common, but at the same time perfectly balanced each other out. maya often joked that you two were like yin and yang.

your relationship with joe shifted like the seasons.

when you met, there was a period of time you spent learning each other. learning not only how the other person worked and ticked on set, but learning each other.

joe learned your coffee order, you learned which toppings he preferred on his pizza but would settle for anything to please everyone else. you learned his favorite niche bands and albums and he learned your favorite authors and foreign films.

you danced around each other in a warming newness, equal parts shy and welcoming. all the while, something more was blooming. something beautiful beneath the surface, like spring flowers.

by the summer months, you had fallen into a routine.

summer in georgia was hot and sticky, making set somewhat hellish. but the june sun couldn’t compare to the warmth you felt standing next to joe.

in a way, joe radiated warm energy. he was like the sun and you were some planet drawn to him, orbiting him in awe.

joe also filled you with a different sort of warmth. the kind that settled in deep, causing butterflies to erupt in your belly and your heart to skip a beat.

it was just your characters, you’d tell yourself at the end of the day, when you were melting with exhaustion into the chair in the makeup trailer.

when you caught joe’s soft gaze lingering a little too long, when he smiled brightly at you, when he would playfully nudge you between takes. it was just method acting. right?

as your characters fell in love in small moments between the bigger plot, it all felt a little too real. when the cameras cut, the feelings didn’t fade.

you almost wanted to chase that feeling. you wanted the scenes to keep rolling, if that meant you could stay in joe’s embrace. you could keep hearing his soft professions of love.

even if it wasn’t joe talking. even if, in reality, it was steve saying those things to kat.

meanwhile, joe was going through it.

he liked to think of himself as a professional. he never caught feelings for a coworker, in acting or otherwise.

but now, as he stood on set with you without the cameras even rolling, his heart raced. he felt lighter around you, happier in a quiet, content way.

“you’re in looooove.” maya had told him jokingly one morning before you had gotten to set.

“you’re ridiculous. we’re just best friends. who, you know, happen to play two characters falling in love. if it’s convincing, it just means i’m doing my job right.” joe insisted.

but maya shook her head. “you don’t need to do your job when the camera isn’t rolling. not to mention when you’re not even on set. face it, joseph.”

joe sat quietly, letting maya’s words settle in while the girl proceeded while a dramatic wailing of “so this is love” from cinderella.

joe was conflicted. he had never had the lines blur for him while acting. he thought back to previous on screen love interests. did he feel this way when he and natalia shared romantic scenes? or when his characters in other projects had to flirt or kiss someone?

but he kept getting the same answer. no. joe had never felt this way while acting in romantically driven scenes.

then it hit him like a ton of bricks.

fuck. he was falling in love with you.

joe decided, at least for the time being, he would keep his discovery to himself. the last thing he wanted was to cross boundaries, ruining your friendship and making you uncomfortable at your place of work all in one fell swoop.

but there were moments when joe wanted to risk it all. moments that came all too often.

like during downtime on set on long days, when you and joe sat cross-legged on the ground in the corner of set, knees knocking together as you played cards to pass the time. and you won go fish again, smiling widely as you laid down your last match and wiggled your shoulders excitedly. it took everything in joe not to lean in and close the small gap between you, kissing the grin off your face.

instead, joe settled for smiling at you fondly, letting the feelings simmer inside unbearably.

or when you were at joe’s apartment in a small town outside of atlanta on a night off. the two of you a bottle of wine in, music playing softly from a speaker and joe’s guitar laying across your lap.

your fingers strum, playing a chord you completely made up yourself. truthfully, it sounds awful, and you know it. you’re just goofing off. but it was music to joe’s ears.

you play something wonky that bounces off the walls and laugh, making something twist pleasantly in joe’s chest. he echoes your laugh and, against his better judgement, reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ears.

you meet his gaze and blush.

“how do i sound, mr. music man?”

joe snorts softly. “horrendous.”

you gasp playfully. “rude!”

the two of you giggle before you knock your shoulder into his.

“if i’m so horrendous, teach me.”

joe’s heart leapt in his chest. he moves to make room in front of him, pats the cushion. you bite the inside of your cheek and roll your eyes, but slot yourself in front of him nonetheless.

as joe wraps his arms around you and the guitar, he guides your hands along the strings. your faces are inches from each other, enough for his breath to fan across your cheek.

both of you are trying to keep your cool, completely oblivious to the fact that you’re both going through it.

at one point, after a little while of trying and failing to play something, you sighed defeatedly. you throw your head back against joe’s shoulder with a groan.

“i have zero musical bones in my body.”

joe chuckles turning his head to look down on you. he prayed you couldn’t feel his heart pounding against your back.

“you just gotta keep practicing, sweetheart. we’ll get you there.”

you roll your head to the side, looking up at joe. but your faces end up closer than anticipated. your noses almost brush and your breath catches in your throat.

you don’t know how long you hold each other’s gazes, but joe’s eyes flicker down to your lips and something snaps in him. he pulls away quick, leaving your cheeks burning.

you clear your throat, moving to the opposite end of the couch after setting his guitar down. joe put on a movie and the tension dissipated as soon as it appeared.

but the elephant in the room remained.

it all finally came to a head a few months later.

it was technically fall. but early fall in georgia was still warm. the nights faded into a slightly cooler breeze that felt a little more like autumn.

you’d had a rough week. you had gotten to the more intense scenes as you neared the end of the season. there was more drama, more action, and, of course, the scene where steve finally confessed to katherine.

you supposed the stress was finally getting to you. it didn’t help that you were tired, thanks to months of long days, late nights, and chaotic sleep schedules.

and you felt like you just couldn’t nail this scene.

your character was overwhelmed. between the “murders”, learning about the dark truths beneath hawkins, looking after max (whom she quickly grew a soft spot for), fighting a dark wizard named vecna, and your feelings for steve. it was all a lot.

and it was something you wanted to perfect.

the pain for steve throwing himself into danger. the desperation of wanting him to see her instead of nancy. all the feelings that bubble over and reach a breaking point before the final battle plans.

you were trying to run your lines in your head while final adjustments were made to the lighting, but your gaze was locked onto joe across the field as he had his hair touched up.

it was take three of your confession scene. one of the duffers called for places, you were sure which. it wasn’t important to you right now.

you took your spot sitting on a crate and joe flashed you a smile and thumbs up, which you halfheartedly reciprocated before locking in.

the scene started with catherine sharpening knives, having a moment alone. steve enters, trying to make a lighthearted joke that doesn’t land. reality was too real at the moment.

“hey, you okay?” joe recited his line effortlessly, falling perfectly into steve’s character.

“how can you joke right now?” you scoff, sharpening the blade harder.

joe, steve, frowned, taking a seat next to you. “talk to me.”

you sighed, pausing your movements.

“you almost died, steve. you could still die. all of us can.”

steve couldn’t help himself. “if you knew many times i’ve almost died in the past few years, you wouldn’t be so upset right now.”

you drop the blade and the sharpener to the ground, both clattering to the ground. the camera moved in closer but you tried to ignore it.

“you don’t get it, do you? you almost died steve. hell, i thought i lost you! and here you are making jokes like we aren’t risking our fucking lives! god, you know, sometimes i really just wish you’d get your head out of your ass. you’re a real idiot sometimes. but i guess we have that in common.”you laughed bitterly, your voice cracking as you dug deeper into the scene.

joe reacted perfectly, just like he’d done when rehearsing and during the previous takes. he wore that confused, hurt puppy dog look of steve’s so well.

“kat-“

“no, steve! this is insanity. i feel like im going crazy. last week, i was passing notes about mr. lewinsky’s bald spot with robin during calculus and eating all the popcorn at family video while you sorted the tapes that keith specifically asked me to do because he said i have been slacking off. and now i’m fighting a monster from another dimension that’s been terrorizing and killing my classmates. all the while, i have to sit here and watch you make heart eyes at snooty nancy wheeler, who totally hates me, by the way!” you had run out of breath by the time you finished your rant, avoiding joe, or well, steve’s gaze.

the tension that settled over you felt all too personal. those lines between real and acting were beginning to bleed together.

“i think i love you, katherine.” steve replied, but all you could hear is joe. blame it on your exhaustion, but this was were you began to fall apart in the scene. every take, without fail.

because you were desperate to hear joe say those words to you, but you knew you would have to settle for his character confessing to yours. you’d have to live vicariously through her.

and that did something to your psyche.

when you lifted your gaze to find joe’s eyes burning into you, so fully in character, it made your heart leap and your mind blank. your mouth opened but your lines didn’t come out.

“CUT!”

it was ross and matt had thrown cold water over you with that one word. they might as well have.

“let’s break for lunch. i think we need a breather to regroup.” one of the called out.

you bolted from set faster than anyone could register. you didn’t even stop for joe as he called out for you.

you found a quiet spot behind one of the farthest trailers parker in the lot and sat there for a while. you talked yourself down, telling yourself it was just nerves and exhaustion taking their toll.

your thoughts are interrupted by a small tray containing a sandwich and some chips being held out in front of your face.

you followed the hand, which you recognized instantly, up the arm and to the face of joe smiling down at you, holding his own plate in his other hand.

“brought you lunch.”

“how’d you find me?” you asked with a slight pout, but still mumbling a thanks as you take the food. joe sat down next to you, placing his plate on his lap.

“i think i would be able to find you anywhere.”

you didn’t let yourself read into that answer, no matter how much if made your stomach flip.

you pick around at the sandwich, peeling the crust off in little bits to eat slowly. joe watched intently for a moment before he knocked his shoulder against yours.

“talk to me. what’s going on?” his voice was so soft it instantly soothed you. it always had that effect on you.

“i’m just tired and overwhelmed. things are getting more intense.” you shrugged.

“what about this scene are you finding so difficult? we can work it out.” you wanted to hate joe. everytime he opened his mouth or he’ll, even existed, he made it more and more difficult not to love him.

and that was something you couldn’t do. and you certainly couldn’t tell him you did. so you shook your head.

“like i said, it’s just a lot. i’ll be fine after lunch and a break.”

joe frowned, unconvinced. see, what you failed to consider was that over the past however many months, joe had come to know you like the back of his hand.

joe knew you in ways your oldest friends or your family didn’t know. he knew that when you lied, your left eyebrow twitched upwards ever so slightly. he knew that when something was weighing on you, you got that far off look in your eyes and you chewed on the inside corner of your mouth.

all three of which were happening as he looked at you.

“sweetheart, you can tell me anything. you know i’m here for you. always am. i just want you to not bottle anything up that’s bothering you.” joe’s words made your eyes prickle with tears. the softness of them. the sincerity. the stupid pet name guys definitely don’t casually call their best friend slash coworker, and yet, joe had called you that from the beginning.

“fucking hell.” you mumbled as you rubbed your hands harshly down your face. “i don’t know how much longer i can keep doing this.”

joe furrowed his brows. “what? the show? acting?”

“no, joe. this. i don’t know how much longer i can be around you.”

joe’s face fell.

“what? did i do something?”

“everything, joe! that’s the problem! everything you do drives me crazy. at first i thought, surely, i only feel this way because my character is in love with yours. but that’s not true at all. and maybe i’m a horrible actress for letting the lines become blurred in my head but you’re you and you’re perfect and i just couldn’t help it!”

joe stared. mouth agape. his brows were knitted together in the way they do when he’s processing something. you knew that look, of course you did. joe wasn’t the only one who knew someone like the back of his hand.

“what exactly are you saying?” joe’s voice softened into a tone you only heard in quiet moments together. when everything was warm and soft around the edges.

“you know what i’m saying joe. and i’m sorry this happened now instead of after filming. i don’t want to make things uncomfortable or ruin our friendship but i’ll just have to deal with the consequences.”

then joe laughed. a bubble of laughter escaped him before he could stop it. he pinched the bridge of his nose and muttered idiot to himself under his breath.

you wanted to shrink away. close in on yourself and shrink away into nothingness. you rolled your eyes, mostly in effort to subtly rid the tears forming in them, then go to stand up.

but joe caught your wrist, keeping you sat next to him.

“sorry, i’m the idiot. not you. i mean, hell, do you know how many times i’ve wanted to kiss you these past few months? way too many for me not to grow some balls and do it. but i was scared.”

you could barely hear joe over the sound of your heart pounding in your ears. surely, this was some kind of joke. some sick hazing prank on the newbie, month later. but the look in joe’s eyes made any doubt fade.

because you knew joe. you knew that there wasn’t a malicious bone in his body. you knew he loved and cared deeply about anyone that crossed his path. you knew the way he looked at you, that look reserved for only you. this was your joe.

so instead, you scoffed lightly, shaking your head. “yeah, you are an idiot.”

“hey! let’s not forget this is a two way street miss i’ve been in love with you for months!” joe defended with a chuckle.

“i never said that i was in love with you.”

“you kinda did.”

“not specifically.”

you watched as joe stared at you, unable to stop the corners of his mouth from lifting fondly. you couldn’t help it, that look he gave you triggered something in you and made you lower all defenses.

“i’m in love with you, joe. a ridiculous amount. so much it hurts.” your voice now came out as a whisper, almost like you were still scared to admit it. because you weren’t scared of loving joe. in fact, it’s the easiest thing you’ve ever done. you were scared of the repercussions had he not felt the same, even now.

joe’s face crumpled into the softest look you’d ever seen. his hand found your cheek and cradled it gently.

“i’m in love with you too. and i’m a fool for not saying anything sooner. but you’re such an amazing woman and i didn’t want to jeopardize anything we already had. i’d rather pine after you for the rest of my life than tell you how i feel and lose you because you didn’t feel the same.”

“you could never lose me, joe.”

“i know. but the thought of it alone terrified me.” joe brushed his thumb across your cheek and you leaned into his touch.

“from now on, we don’t keep anything from each other. i’m not gonna run away from you or us.”

joe nodded his head. “deal.”

“deal.” you echoed then looked at him expectantly. “okay, you can kiss me now.”

joe laughed, the kind that made your heart feel light, then leaned in.

“i love you.” he said gently before pressing his lips to your in a long awaited kiss. but it was well worth the wait. because really, you’d wait several lifetimes just to kiss joe. you smiled into the kiss at the thought.

Steve grabs at your thighs tugging you close enough that your breasts press tight against his chest. He nips just under your jaw before peppering open mouth along the length of your neck. Catching the small roll of your hips with a smile against your skin, he pulls away confidently showing you the whites of them.

Grabbing your chin between two fingers, he tugs your face down just enough for his lips to ghost against yours.

“Let me guess, this is the last time.” He whispers against your mouth with a knowing smirk.

”Yes, I mean it.” You huff, unable to control your own grin, rocking your hips again. “Last. time.”

”Whatever you say.”

Steve snorts, not waiting for whatever smart comeback you have waiting on the tip of your tongue. Instead, he curls his hand around the back of your neck, and catches it on his own.

The moan that escapes out of your throat comes stirring from deep within your chest. He huffs out a small laugh at it before licking into your mouth with the kind of hunger that lights a fire along your already heated skin. Meeting him with equal enthusiasm, you apply more pressure with the next grind of your hips making his confidence stutter.

“Fuck —“ He breathes in between kisses, the grip on the back of your neck tightening.

Doing it again, it’s your turn to smile against his mouth, lashes fluttering open to admire the furrow of his brows.

“Better enjoy it while you can.”

His eyes open at that, something darkening the amber that swirls inside of them.

“Who are you trying to convince, honey? Me or you?” Steve smirks with a narrowed gaze filled with determination, the hand on your hip tightening.

“Shut u— ohmygod.”

Your bratty response is cut off, when he drags you over his lap, the seam of your jeans pressing into where you need it most.

“What was that? Couldn’t hear you.” He chuckles darkly, tearing his lips from your mouth to wrap around your pulse point.

He sucks hard enough for your eyes to hit the back of your head, leaving a bruise you’ll have to deal with in the morning. But when he drags his teeth along the sensitive skin, you can’t bring yourself to care.

“Steve, are you down there? I forgot my keys.”

Robin’s voice freezes you in place with fingers curled into the roots of his hair. Steve’s teeth stop right over the already blooming purple mark, the grip on the back of your neck tightening.

“Steve —?” The stairs squeak with the first steps she takes, and it’s enough for him to find his voice.

“Y- yeah!” His voice cracks, and your giggle that follows it earns you a glare.

“My keys, are they down there?” She calls out again, another creak following.

“Shit.” He blows out a breath, pulling away to look around the room, groaning quietly when he spots them on the coffee table.

“Yeah, I got them. Give me a second.” He lays back, running both his hands down his face before meeting your playful gaze.

“It’s getting late, I should probably go.” You smirk, using his broad chest as leverage to push yourself off his lap.

“What? No, she’ll be gone in like 2 seconds.” He whispers harshly trying to grab at your hips, but you slip through his fingers just like this moment.

“I said enjoy it while you can.”

“You can’t be serious.”

Steve stares you down, watching you with heated eyes as you straighten out your shirt and tug up your jeans.

“Never been more serious.” You wink, swiping Robin’s keys off the coffee table before calling out to her.