sara

The worst part in his opinion was that you were criminally good at pretending. At acting like Eddie was just. . . there. Someone you tolerated for Steve and Robin’s sake. Someone mildly annoying. Someone whose knee hadn’t been wedged between yours twenty minutes ago. Eddie, meanwhile, looked like a man actively resisting the urge to gnaw his own arm off.

Which was why Robin Buckley was currently psychoanalyzing him with narrowed eyes from behind the counter with the kind of look that made Eddie feel like confessing to crimes he hadn’t even committed yet. He slapped on a lopsided grin and gave her a little bow. “Buckley,” he said, hand to chest.

She rolled her eyes so hard he was pretty sure she saw her own brain, then turned back to the counter, organizing the stack of tapes you’d just dropped in her arms. Eddie sagged in relief and took a seat against the counter. Robin paused.

“. . . What do you need?” she asked without looking at him.

“Uh,” Eddie said, buying time. “Horror?”

She finally looked up. “You need horror?”

Eddie straightened, offended. “Wow. Love the confidence, Buckley.” He jerked his chin toward you. “Ask your coworker. I love horror.”

Robin’s brow arched. “Why would she know what you like?”

Words jammed up in Eddie's throat. “I— I mean—”

“Of course it’s because she’s the smartest and most emotionally evolved out of you three,” Dustin cut in at lightning speed, suddenly appearing at Eddie’s side and waving his hands vaguely between you, Steve, and Robin. “Like. Obviously.”

Robin gave Dustin a long, assessing look. “You and I have never really clicked, have we?”

“Uh,” Dustin drawled.

She stared at him another second, then huffed and disappeared into the storeroom.

Dustin leaned closer. “You owe me one,” he muttered.

Eddie exhaled and pointed at him. “I owe you several.”

Dustin grinned and wandered back to the rotating shelf.

Oh yes. Dustin Henderson was the only one who knew about you and Eddie. And it hadn’t been intentional. If Eddie had gotten to choose, he might’ve told Nancy — if only because he would have talked about you to her and she would just listen, not caring in the least. But the unfortunate incident had already occurred. You’d been over at the trailer. Dustin had, at that exact moment, decided to drop by unannounced. And well. He’d caught the two of you in a. . . compromising situation.

The secret had cost Eddie a science kit Dustin had been eyeing for weeks. Worth it, probably. Still unfortunate.

Eddie was pulled out of his thoughts by the sound of your voice.

He turned just in time to see you leaning against the counter with Steve, who was pointing at the jacket slung comfortably over your shoulders. His jacket. The one Eddie distinctly remembered owning. The one that was very much not on his body anymore.

“Hey,” Steve said, squinting at you. “That’s not yours.”

You nervously laughed. “Wow. Gold stars for you, Steve.”

“No, I mean,” he laughed, scratching the back of his neck, “that’s not your style at all. Funny thing is,” He paused. “it is someone else’s style.”

And then, like the universe hated Eddie Munson personally, Steve turned to look at him like it was a genuine coincidence.

Steve’s smile faltered.

His eyes dropped to Eddie’s shoulders and to the absence of denim and patches. His eyes widened slowly, realization crashing in.

“Oh,” Steve said.

You and Eddie locked eyes. Yours went wide. Eddie’s probably fell out, he couldn't tell.

“Nope,” you said, clamping a hand over Steve’s mouth before he could finish that thought. You shook your head, your eyes begging, a little threatening, pleading all at once. Then you nodded sharply at Eddie like move, grabbed Steve by the arm, and hauled him toward the door.

Eddie scrambled after you, heart in his throat, while Dustin looked up from the rotating shelf just in time to see the three of you disappear outside.

“Wow,” Dustin muttered to himself. “Science kit paid for itself already.”

You dragged Steve far enough that the neon glow of Family Video buzzed behind you, then finally yanked your hand away from his mouth. He sucked in a breath like he’d been underwater.

His eyes bounced between you and Eddie. “You two?” he blurted, voice cracking like a kid going through puberty again.

You shook your head on instinct at the exact same time Eddie nodded, helpless and completely incapable of lying when it came to you. Steve stared at the contradictory answers.

“What? Okay, hold on,” Steve said, backing up a step and pointing between you. “So that’s why you’ve been acting weird. And you,” he pointed at Eddie, who waved weakly, “you’re always acting weird so I didn’t notice anything.”

Eddie perked up. “Hey.”

Steve laughed suddenly, then stopped just as fast. “Wait. How long? And does anyone else know?”

You hesitated. Eddie didn’t. “A while and yes, Henderson knows. He kind of walked in when we were uh. . .” he drawled and thankfully Steve put up a hand.

“Wow,” he breathed. “Okay. Okay!” He straightened, visibly puffing up. “First of all? I figured it out. Me. Not Robin. Not Henderson. Me.”

Eddie scoffed. “I told you Henderson knows.”

Steve waved that off immediately. “Yeah, but he didn’t figure it out. That doesn’t count. That’s like. . . accidental knowledge. I solved it. I’m a genius.” He pointed at his own head. “Brain like a steel trap.”

Before either of you could react, Steve stepped forward and wrapped both of you into a hug. You stiffened in surprise as Eddie froze entirely, arms hovering uselessly at his sides like he wasn’t sure what to do with them.

“Oh,” Eddie muttered, patting Steve’s back awkwardly. “There there, Harrington.”

Steve pulled back just enough to give him a look. “This guy. Seriously?”

Something in Eddie’s chest suddenly unlocked as he had a quick realization. If Steve knew then that meant Eddie could finally. . . He leaned in without thinking, instinct dragging him forward, nose brushing yours, heart thudding loud enough he was pretty sure Steve could hear it too.

“Hey, dude,” Steve said immediately. “I’m standing right here.”

Eddie froze mid-lean, eyes snapping open. “But, you know,” he said, like that explained everything.

Steve stared at him. “Yeah. I know. That does not mean I want to watch you two suck each other’s faces off outside my place of work.”

Eddie groaned, tipping his head back. “This is oppression.”

You laughed and patted Eddie’s chest in a traitorous way, like you weren’t the reason his brain had short-circuited entirely. Steve shook his head, lips twitching despite himself, and gave you both a lopsided, fond smile. He turned and headed for the door. You followed for exactly three steps.

Then you pivoted on your heel, grabbed Eddie by the front of his shirt, and kissed him. Eddie made a noise that was somewhere between a gasp and a whimper and promptly melted, knees going weak.

When you pulled back, grinning, Eddie just stared at you, eyes blown wide, brain fully turned to static.

“Oh,” he breathed. “Yeah. I’m— I’m ruined.”

You squeezed his hand and slipped back toward the store before he could recover. Eddie stood there for a second longer, heart racing, smiling like an idiot, as he ticked off a second person off his list.

The third coming out came much faster than expected.

You had Nancy and Jonathan over for movie night from which Robin had bailed with a vague excuse about a headache that sounded suspiciously like people. You’d all piled onto the couch Somewhere around the halfway mark, you’d half-dozed off, cheek pressed into a pillow, brain blissfully empty.

You woke up to whisper-arguing.

Groggy and unconcerned, you brushed it off immediately. Nancy and Jonathan fought sometimes. You rolled over, eyes still closed when you heard Eddie’s voice.

“Oh shit,” you whispered, sitting bolt upright.

You scrambled off the couch, just in time to look toward the front door. Nancy stood with her hands planted on her hips. Jonathan stood beside her, looking sleepy. Eddie was trapped between them, glancing around, clearly assessing every possible exit — the door, the windows, maybe the floor could magically open up. Now would have been a great time for one of those demogorgons to come out.

“Hey,” you offered weakly.

“Hey? Hey?” Nancy repeated. “Would you care to explain this?” She pointed directly at Eddie.

You blinked. “That’s. . . Eddie.”

“Oh yes,” Nancy said flatly. “Thank you. That was exactly what I was asking.”

You winced. “There’s no way I’m getting out of this, is there?”

Jonathan shook his head. “Nope.”

What followed could only be described as an interrogation. Nancy was pacing the entire time as Jonathan offered Eddie some water who was answering far too honestly when directly addressed and clamming up the second she looked away. You tried to help. You really did. It did not help. At one point Nancy paused mid-lecture, eyes widening.

“Wait,” she said. “Steve figured it out before me?”

Eddie groaned quietly. You covered your face.

Eventually, Jonathan managed to steer Nancy toward the door, hand on her shoulder, murmuring reassurances and promises of later discussion. She shot one last suspicious look over her shoulder before leaving.

The door shut.

Eddie exhaled deeply which told you he’d been holding his breath for ten minutes straight. “She scares me,” he said faintly.

You nodded immediately. “Me too.”

The last coming out somehow managed to involve everyone.

It happened during one of the group’s meetings. Eddie was half-sprawled in a chair and you very pointedly sitting not next to him. Everything was fine.

Well, until you accidentally made a D&D reference.

Will’s head snapped up. “. . . Wait,” he said with narrowed eyes. “You hate D&D.”

You froze and shrugged, forcing a laugh. “I mean. I don’t hate it.”

Lucas squinted at you as he began assessing you and then his eyes dropped to your hand. “Is that a new ring?”

Your stomach dropped.

“I’ve actually seen that before,” he continued, leaning closer. “Eddie has the exact same one. Eddie, show her.”

All eyes turned to Eddie. He swallowed, then reluctantly held out his hand. The ring was gone.

Jonathan immediately tried to redirect the conversation so hard it almost qualified as cardio. Robin leaned forward, interest sparking.

“Hey, Munson,” she said. “Where’s your ring?”

Max’s eyes widened. “Holy shit.”

Everyone turned to her.

“They’re dating,” Max said, pointing wildly between you and Eddie. “They’re dating.”

“No!” You exclaimed before clearing your throat. “No. Eddie just. . . happened to give me his ring. Because I liked it.”

Max raised a brow at you which made you nervously twirl your hair.

Max gasped. “Oh my god—”

“Your hair is curly,” Mike cut in.

You deadpanned. “Yeah. I’ll tell you the secret later, Mikeala.”

Mike rolled his eyes as Max shot him a glare. “I was about to say that. Girls’ hair turns curly when they’re in love. See?” She gestured at her own hair. Lucas grinned proudly.

Across the room, Will and Jane exchanged a look.

“No,” Will said.

Everyone turned to them. “What now?” Dustin asked.

“Last week,” Will continued, “we saw her leaving Eddie’s trailer.”

Eddie spluttered. “Why are you snooping around my trailer, Byers?”

“We were going to Max’s house,” Jane said. “We thought we were hallucinating.”

Will nodded. “Because, well, she’s gorgeous. And you’re Eddie.”

Eddie paused. “. . . I’m not even gonna argue. That’s true.”

What followed was a long, exhausting debate with who almost caught them when. You exchanged a look with Eddie who had now been deemed the love coach by Max and Will for having to be able to get a girl like you while being like him.

Only Robin was quiet which was very unusual and mildly unsettled you. You nudged her when everyone got distracted by another argument. “Hey. What’s wrong?”

She sighed. “I just— I can’t believe the dingus figured it out before me.”

He gestured wildly, knocking over a stack of return cards, and Robin groaned without looking up. You laughed. Loud and pretty. Eddie almost flinched at how the sound hit him.

It wasn’t like you were totally enamored with Steve. You weren’t leaning over the counter, you weren’t twirling your hair, and the second the bell rang when Eddie walked in you had immediately waved at him and the gremlins beside him.

You’d even raised your brows asking, "Want me to help you find something?"

The offer was right there on your lips before Dustin elbowed Eddie hard in the ribs and dragged him toward the horror aisle with Lucas tagging along.

Eddie hadn’t protested. He was trying to be hard to get. That meant not going to you, not claiming his usual spot against the counter beside you, not stealing a pen out of your pocket just to annoy you, not calling you sweetheart in front of everyone because he could. His body refused to move toward you, even though every instinct screamed that you were where he belonged.

From where he stood, half-hidden by the shelves, he watched Steve keep talking, watched you laugh again, head tipping back, your smile so easy it made his chest ache. Steve laughed too, bumping your shoulder with his.

He forced himself to look away, jaw clenched. Playing hard to get wasn’t supposed to feel like swallowing glass.

Dustin and Lucas were choosing between two nearly identical horror movies, whispering loudly to each other. They absolutely were not actually picking tapes. They were watching Eddie watching you. Waiting for this whole stupid plan to magically work.

He had survived bats from literal hell. He had survived the entire town hating him. But watching you laugh at someone else’s jokes while he pretended he didn’t care?

That might actually kill him. No, he couldn't wait anymore.

He hooked two fingers into Dustin’s jacket sleeve and yanked him out of the aisle hard enough that the kid stumbled into his side. Lucas looked up from the tapes, startled, but Eddie didn’t care. His eyes were still locked on the counter where you were, now leaning closer to Steve to see something he was pointing at in the register.

Jealousy crawled up Eddie’s spine.

“Hey, Henderson,” he muttered under his breath. “You sure Harrington isn’t in love with her or something? Would make sense why he gave me that torturous advice.”

Dustin scoffed immediately. “Are you kidding me? Steve? In love with her? Nope. Steve loves Nance. It’s sad actually. I’ve given up on him.”

Eddie blinked down at Dustin. “The. . . the reporter girl? The one with the eyes that could murder a man?”

“Yes,” Dustin answered flatly. “He’s been in a weird life-or-death pining spiral for like a year.”

Eddie opened his mouth, closed it, then frowned even deeper. “So he told me to act like I don’t care about the girl I like because he’s. . . emotionally stupid?”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

“You don’t see how that might be a problem?”

“Nope.”

Eddie stared at him, baffled.

“Listen, Steve doesn’t give sucky advice. Ever.”

Eddie snorted so sharply it sounded painful. “Henderson, the man gets rejected more often than the school janitor takes out the trash.”

“That’s because he keeps choosing girls he can’t have,” Dustin shot back. “Not because his strategies don’t work.”

Lucas chimed in reluctantly, eyes still on the tapes. “He’s not totally wrong. Steve actually knows what he’s doing with the whole. . . dating. . . thing.”

Eddie pointed toward you and Steve at the counter. “He knows what he’s doing? Look at him! He’s already in love with the way she organizes tapes!”

Dustin rolled his eyes. “Oh my god, man. That’s called friendship.”

“It’s called emotional intimacy and I don’t like it,” Eddie hissed.

“Dude,” Dustin said, grabbing him by both shoulders, eyes wide with older than his age confidence, “you play this right and she is going to be obsessed with you.”

Eddie swallowed hard. “She already was obsessed with me. Now she’s laughing at King Hair over there.”

“She laughed at you yesterday,” Dustin snapped. “In fact, she does that every day. Because she likes you.”

Eddie wanted to believe him. God, he wanted to. But the longer he watched you smile at Steve, the more something sharp twisted inside him.

Dustin tugged on his sleeve again, lowering his voice. “Look, man. If you want her to chase you, you have to stop orbiting her. Trust the process.”

Eddie breathed in through his nose, out through his mouth. Trust the process. Trust the plan. Trust the child who didn’t understand taxes but apparently understood romance.

He watched as you tossed your head back laughing once more at something Steve said.

And then you looked over.

Your eyes found Eddie immediately. Your smile softened into something warmer. You lifted a hand and waved.

Eddie froze.

His heart was doing things medically inadvisable. He lifted his hand automatically to wave back before Dustin slapped it down.

“No!” Dustin whisper-yelled. “Hard. To. Get.”

Eddie grimaced, trying to school his expression into the neutral, vaguely mysterious cool-guy face Steve had demonstrated. It probably looked more like he was constipated.

You raised both eyebrows at his weird non-reaction, confusion slipping across your features for just a second before Robin pulled you away to help reshelve a pile of returns.

After a few minutes, Eddie saw you coming. You rounded the end of the aisle with that determined little stride you got when you were trying to figure someone out, and Eddie’s lungs stopped working. His eyes snapped to Dustin and Lucas in full panic.

They both gave him the most useless encouragement in the world—two enthusiastic thumbs up—and then immediately backed away.

You stopped right in front of him. “Hey. Is everything alright?”

Eddie straightened, trying to pull on the casual attitude he had practiced in the mirror. “Yes,” he said.

“You sure?” you asked, tilting your head. “Because you didn’t wave back just now.”

“Oh, yeah. . . I had a, uh. . . a fly on my hand.” He pointed vaguely at his wrist. “Henderson was just swatting it away.”

You blinked at him, totally not buying it. “Right. . . the fly.”

He nodded aggressively.

You let it go. “Well, did you get the movie you came in for?”

“The what?”

“The movie you came in for,” you repeated gently. “You know, the reason you’re here.”

“Oh,” he coughed, scratching the back of his neck. “That was just for Henderson and Sinclair. They were planning a horror movie night.”

You nodded slowly. Then silence settled between you.

The kind that made your stomach twist. Things had been weird between you lately. He’d been a little distant and it was not like he was fully pulling away, but just not orbiting you the way he used to. Conversations were shorter. His jokes didn’t land the same, mostly because he wasn’t really telling them.

You kicked the toe of your shoe softly against the carpet, trying to think of what to say next, but Eddie beat you to it.

“So you and Harrington have been spending a lot of time together.”

“Oh, Steve?” you asked, taken aback. “Yeah, you know we work together, silly.”

Eddie muttered something under his breath, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides.

You took him in and suddenly it clicked.

“Are you jealous?”

His head snapped toward you defensively, cheeks already blooming red. “Ugh, why would I be jealous? You can flirt with whoever you want. I don’t care.”

You stared at him. “Who said anything about flirting? You didn’t think that was flirting, did you?”

Eddie scoffed, scoffed again, then nodded with false confidence. “Of course I know what flirting is.”

“Are you sure?” you asked.

He blinked, narrowing his eyes in offense. “Yes, I’m sure.”

You leaned in slightly, just enough to make his breath hitch. “Then why don’t you show me?”

Eddie froze.

“Huh?” he managed, voice cracking.

You met his eyes confidently because you were done with him pretending he didn’t want you. “If you know what flirting is,” you said softly, “show me.”

Eddie stood there, mouth opening and closing with absolutely no data processing happening behind his eyes. If an error message could appear on a human face, it would’ve been on his.

You waited, arms loosely crossed.

He cleared his throat, trying to remember every suave line he’d ever used in his life. Normally he could flirt with you without thinking. But now that you were asking for it? His brain emptied like someone had flipped a switch.

“So,” he started, leaning one elbow on a display shelf in what he hoped looked smooth. The shelf wobbled dangerously. “Uh. . . you come here often?”

You stared. “I work here.”

Eddie swallowed. “Right. So. That’s. . . that’s a yes.”

He tried again, standing up straighter, trying to channel his usual cocky grin. “You’re, uh. . . pretty. I mean, not pretty. I mean. . . you are pretty. Obviously. You’re so pretty it’s like. . .”

His hands waved helplessly in the air as if the right word might land on them.

“You know, sweetheart,” His voice cracked halfway through the word. “I’m. . . available. Like very available. Like, aggressively available.”

You pressed your lips together, trying not to laugh. Not because you wanted to make fun of him but because this was the worst flirting Eddie Munson had ever done. It was almost endearing how hard he was trying to act like he didn’t care while caring more than anyone ever had.

“Okay, I can’t do this anymore,” he confessed, eyes finally lifting to meet yours. “I. . . look, Dustin said I should play hard to get. And Steve backed him up. And they both looked very sure of themselves, which is stupid now that I say it out loud.”

Your eyebrows lifted. “Play hard to get? With me?”

“Yes! Which is insane, because I am very easy to get with you. If you asked me to jump, I’d already be in the air.”

He took a shaky breath, words tumbling out before he could stop them.

“Anyways, they said it because apparently girls don’t like guys who are obsessed with them too fast. And I was trying but it’s like trying to pretend I don’t need oxygen around you. I thought if I didn’t talk to you as much, if I acted like I didn’t care, you’d chase me. Instead I just got to watch you laugh with somebody else and it felt like my ribs were being pried open.”

Your heart cracked right open.

He kept going. “I wasn’t flirting just now because I didn’t want to flirt. I couldn’t because I’m so crazy about you it breaks my brain. I don’t know how to flirt with you when you’re staring at me like that. I don’t know how to pretend with you. Not about anything.”

You stepped closer giving him every chance to retreat. He didn’t. If anything, he leaned in.

“So you weren’t jealous because you thought Steve and I were flirting?” you asked softly.

“Yes, obviously I was jealous!” he hissed like he couldn’t believe you even needed the clarification. “I’m jealous of the air you breathe. It’s disgusting.”

You smiled, warmth blooming deep in your chest. “You didn’t need to play hard to get.”

He nodded miserably. “I know.”

“You didn’t need to pretend you didn’t want me.”

“I know.”

“You could’ve just told me.”

His voice dropped to a whisper. “I was scared.”

You reached forward slowly and took his hand, threading your fingers together like you’d done it your whole life. Eddie sucked in a breath like you were electricity.

“Why would you listen to them?” you whispered.

He swallowed hard. His voice was small when he answered.

“Because I like you too much. And I didn’t want to mess it up by. . . liking you too much.”

You squeezed his hand. “You didn’t mess anything up.”

Eddie’s face split into the kind of smile that could’ve powered the town if someone hooked him up to a generator.

“So. . . ” he said, “does that mean I can stop playing hard to get?”

“You never played it well to begin with.”

“Thank god,” he exhaled. “It was killing me.”

You tugged him closer by his hand.

“Now,” you teased, “you wanna try that flirting thing again?”

Eddie leaned in confident, the way he always was with you.

“Oh sweetheart,” he murmured, “now that I don’t have to hide anything? I’ll show you flirting.”

And when he kissed you, it wasn’t hard to get. It was everything he’d been dying to give you all along.

­

A few months ago, you got accepted into the university you had always dreamed of. The campus is hours away from your hometown, which means you have to move.

When you applied for the dorms, they were already full and the waiting list was huge. To make things worse, all the apartments nearby were ridiculously expensive, way beyond what you could afford.

Your older brother, Jake, suggested that you share an apartment with his two best friends, Riki and Sunghoon. Their apartment has three bedrooms and is just a few minutes walk from campus. Jake told you that Heeseung, the friend who used to occupy the third room, had graduated last semester, so the room was now empty.

Splitting the rent between three people would be much cheaper than anywhere else you could find. Still, you hesitated. Riki and Sunghoon have been Jake’s best friends since high school, and you’ve known them for years, but living with them felt strange — too intimate. At the same time, it was an excellent opportunity.

In the end, you had no other choice but to accept. A few weeks later, you packed your things and moved into your brother’s best friends’ apartment.

───

You slam the door behind you harder than necessary, taking out your frustration and exhaustion on the poor door. Riki looks up at you from the couch with that usual smirk.

"Rough day?" he asks, patting the empty space beside him. "Come here."

You drop your bag on the living room floor, kick off your shoes, and walk slowly toward him. "Yeah… rough day. I hate being me sometimes."

He turns to look at you properly. "You look fucking exhausted." It’s obvious from your tired expression, heavy eyelids, and tense body. Anyone could tell your day had been hell.

His other hand rests on your warm, soft thigh, exposed by your tiny skirt. It doesn’t take long for him to slide it higher, carefully moving between your legs.

"Sunghoon isn’t home…" he murmurs, leaning closer. "Let me help you relax."

"Riki…" Your voice falters as your body already reacts to his touch. "We shouldn’t do this without him. You know about our agreement."

He laughs at your weak excuse. "That’s bullshit and we both know it." His hand moves up to gently cup your jaw. "Come on, I just want to help you. What’s wrong with that?"

Your mouth opens, ready to give another excuse, but no words come out. Riki’s smile widens. Unable to wait any longer, he crashes his lips against yours in a hungry kiss.

His hands grab your hips, pulling you onto his lap. You let out a small sigh but don’t hesitate. You straddle him, knees on either side of his hips. The kiss grows messier by the second, wet tongues moving in a chaotic rhythm.

"Fuck, you taste so good," he groans into the kiss, pulling your skirt up until the fabric bunches around your waist. You understand what he wants and start grinding slowly against his growing erection.

His hand slides down to grab your ass, squeezing it while helping you roll your hips. The friction makes his cock throb inside his sweatpants. He leaves a trail of kisses down your neck and smirks when your head falls back, giving him more access. "That’s it, baby. I’m gonna make you feel good. You just need to relax for me, okay?"

Suddenly, he flips you over. Your back hits the couch and he hovers above you, settling between your legs. He quickly grabs the waistband of your panties and pulls them down, tossing them somewhere in the living room. "Look at this perfect pussy, already dripping for me."

His thumb slides over your folds, moving up and down between your swollen lips, spreading your wetness. With his other hand, he pushes his sweatpants and boxers down just enough to free himself. His cock is rock hard and leaking precum. "I’m gonna fuck all that frustration out of you, baby."

He wraps his fingers around his length, stroking a few times before slapping it against your wet pussy, making you gasp and shiver. "Ah— oh my God."

He does it again, slapping his cock against your soaked folds and then against your swollen clit just because he enjoys your reaction. "It’s embarrassing how wet you are just from this."

Without warning, he pushes inside you slowly, watching the way your pussy stretches to take him. When he finally bottoms out, your walls clench around him like his cock is your salvation.

Your hands grab his back as you moan and whimper with every inch that enters you.

"Taking me so well… You were made for my cock, baby." He stays still for a few seconds, letting you adjust to his massive length.

Then, agonizingly slow, because he knows it drives you crazy, he pulls out almost completely before slamming back in hard, making your back arch and knocking the air out of your lungs.

Laughing mockingly, he does it again, pull out until only the tip is inside, then thrust back in brutally. The impact sinks your body deeper into the couch and a broken moan tears from your throat. "Oh my— fuck, Riki."

His cock twitches inside you when he hears you moan. "You love this. You love how I fill you up to the brim." He picks up the pace, fucking you fast and hard, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing through the room. "You feel that? I’m so deep inside you…"

He makes sure every thrust hits that spot inside you that makes you scream and scratch his back. "You sound so good like this."

His hands roam your body. One grips your hip to hold you in place while the other slips under your tank top to play with your sensitive nipple, pinching and rolling the hard peak.

At this point, you can barely think straight. All you can do is moan, your legs shaking uncontrollably as the pressure builds intensely in your core. He hooks one of your knees higher, allowing him to go even deeper.

"I’m gonna cum, I’m so close." Your walls flutter and tighten around him, your toes curling. He laughs, mocking how broken you look. "Then cum for me. Let me feel how much your pussy loves getting fucked like a slut."

Pleasure hits its peak and you cum with a loud moan, your whole body shaking beneath him. Your pussy pulses and squeezes his cock, but he doesn’t stop thrusting, fucking you through your orgasm as he chases his own.

He only slows down when his own orgasm hits. With one final deep thrust, he cums inside you, filling you with his hot load while groaning your name. "Take it, every drop."

He stays buried inside you to make sure you take it all, then slowly pulls out, collapsing beside you on the couch. Both of you are clearly wrecked. You can feel his cum leaking out of you as aftershocks run through your body.

The sound of the front door unlocking makes you turn your head quickly. Sunghoon is standing in the doorway. Everything goes silent as he stares at you and Riki, both still breathless. The air smells like sweat and sex — it’s obvious what happened.

Without saying a word, he closes the door behind him. The click of the lock sounds louder than ever. His expression remains neutral, showing no sign of shock or anger. "My room. Now," he says, walking past you without another glance.

You hesitate, but soon follow him on shaky legs. Sunghoon is already sitting on the edge of the bed, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt, looking perfectly calm. You carefully close the bedroom door. Just as you’re about to turn to him, his voice cuts through the silence. "Lock it."

Swallowing hard, you obey and lock the door, then walk slowly until you’re standing between his legs. "Hoon, we—"

He cuts you off with a dry, humorless laugh. "You couldn’t wait, huh? You are such a greedy desperate slut for cock that you could not even wait for me huh?"

You open your mouth to respond, but once again nothing comes out because you have no excuse. You nod slightly. "Use your fucking words."

"I am. I’m a greedy slut desperate for cock." Your voice is low and shaky.

He grabs your chin firmly, forcing you to look him in the eyes. "We had a clear agreement that no one gets to fuck you alone, only when all three of us are together."

Your face burns with both shame and arousal. "It wasn’t exactly like that… I was really tired and Riki was just trying to help me relax."

He raises one thick eyebrow, clearly not believing you. "So he was just being a good friend, huh? By burying his cock deep inside you to help you relax."

Without waiting for an answer, he slides his hand under your skirt and runs his fingers over your folds, feeling how wet and swollen you still are. "Your pussy is still dripping with his cum." Two fingers slip inside you without warning. "How many times did he make you cum, hm?"

Your legs tremble and you hold onto his shoulders to stay standing. "Once… just once, Hoon."

"Just once?" He mocks, adding a third finger, pumping slowly and curling them against that sensitive spot that always makes you squirm. "I’m gonna make you cum so many times that you’ll never want to break the rules again in your life."

He suddenly pulls his fingers out and gives your pussy a firm slap, hitting your clit and sending a wave of pleasure mixed with a little pain through your body. "Hoon, I’m sorry. I promise it won’t happen again," you beg in a whiny voice.

"Get on the bed. Now." You don’t hesitate to obey, lying on your back with your legs spread wide for him. "Good girl," he praises as he removes his pants and boxers, finally freeing his throbbing cock.

He positions himself between your legs, stroking himself while looking at your swollen pussy still clenching around nothing, begging for more. "So fucking needy." He thrusts into you in one go, not giving you time to adjust to his length.

You let out a loud moan, arching your back off the bed. The stretch burns in the most delicious and overwhelming way, making you writhe beneath him.

His pace is brutally fast, merciless thrusts that reach deep inside you. With one hand he grips your hip while the other presses down on your stomach so he can feel the shape of his cock moving inside you. "Fuck, look at that." He presses harder. "Taking me so deep."

His thumb finds your clit and rubs it in fast circles just to watch you tremble and make those sounds he loves. "Gonna cum? Do it. Cum on my cock."

As if you were only waiting for his permission, you cum hard, creaming around his cock while he keeps fucking you. Your walls squeeze him tightly, making him groan and slam into you messily.

He buries himself to the hilt and cums hard, his cock twitching with every spurt as he fills you up. Your pussy overflows with his load.

Suddenly he laughs mockingly and grabs your cheeks, squeezing them just enough for you to feel it. "I wonder what Jake would think of this… what he would do if he knew his little sister gets her pussy fucked by his best friends every single day in every room of this apartment."

───

NOTE : english is not my first language! I thought about writing a threesome, but I wasn't happy with the result, so I will try again another time

Hyunjin narrowed his eyes.

“That’s all?”

“Yeah.”

“Chris.”

“What?”

“You’re smiling.”

“I’m always smiling.”

“No,” Seungmin spoke up. “This is different. This is the smile you get when someone mentions good food.”

Han pointed his spoon across the table.

“Actually, it’s worse. He’s gone.”

Bang Chan laughed, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I’m not gone.”

“You absolutely are.” Felix leaned forward eagerly.

“So tell us about her.”

Chan hesitated, then the dam broke.

“We had coffee for our first date. It was supposed to last an hour.”

“How long did it last?”

“Five.”

A chorus of surprised voices filled the room.

“We just kept talking, about music, books, family, childhood stories. At one point the café closed around us and neither of us noticed.”

Hyunjin smiled.

“That’s actually adorable.”

Chan’s own smile grew.

“She apologised afterwards for talking so much. I told her I hoped she would never stop.”

Han clutched his chest dramatically.

“Oh, he’s in love.”

“I’m not…” He paused. “…I might be.”

“What happened on the second date?”

“We went for a walk by the river.”

“And?”

“It started raining.”

“You got soaked?”

“Completely.”

Changbin laughed.

“So you ran for cover?”

Chan shook his head.

“She looked up at the sky and started laughing.”

“Because it was raining?”

“She said if we were already wet, there wasn’t much point rushing.” His expression softened as he remembered. “So we just walked.”

“In the rain?”

“In the rain.”

“You didn’t mind?”

“I forgot.”

Jeongin quietly observed, “You really like this girl.”

Chan looked down at his hands before answering.

“I really do.”

Felix spoke up with the question everyone was waiting to ask.

“What about the first kiss?”

Chan immediately covered his face.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Chris.”

He sighed in surrender.

“It wasn’t planned.”

“Those are usually the best ones.”

“We’d gone to dinner, and I was walking her home.” He smiled to himself at the memory. “We reached her building, and neither of us wanted to say goodbye.”

“So you kissed her?”

“No.”

“You didn’t?”

“I got nervous.”

The room erupted.

“You?”

“I know.”

“What happened then?”

Chan laughed at himself.

“I started talking about the weather.”

“The weather?” Han fell sideways onto the sofa.

“I panicked!”

Hyunjin was already wiping tears of laughter from his eyes.

“What did she do?”

“She looked at me for about ten seconds.”

“And?”

“She asked, ‘Are you trying to avoid kissing me?’”

Changbin slapped the table.

“No way.”

“I said, ‘Maybe a little.’”

“And then?”

“I apologised.”

“For what?”

“For being awkward.”

The others groaned.

“You are hopeless.”

“I know.” Chan’s grin returned. “Then she took one step closer, put her hand on my arm and kissed me first.”

Nobody spoke. Even Han had gone quiet.

“It wasn’t dramatic,” Chan continued softly. “Just… nice. Comfortable. Like we’d both been waiting for the right moment without realising the moment had already arrived.”

A smile spread across every face in the room.

“So?” Seungmin asked.

“So what?”

“When are we meeting her?”

Chan looked around at the expectant expressions and laughed.

“When she’s ready.”

“She knows about us, right?”

“Oh, absolutely.”

“And?”

“She said she was more nervous about meeting you lot than she was about our first date.”

Hyunjin gasped theatrically.

“Understandable.”

Han nodded in complete agreement.

“We’re a lot.”

“We really are,” Felix admitted.

Chan stood and gathered the empty bowls, still smiling to himself.

As he headed for the kitchen, Changbin called after him.

“You know you’ve talked about her for twenty minutes without checking your phone once.”

Chan turned.

“So?”

“So you usually check the time every five minutes.”

He blinked, genuinely surprised.

“I didn’t even notice.”

The members shared knowing looks. There was no need to say it out loud.

The way his face lit up at every memory, the softness in his voice when he spoke her name, the quiet happiness that seemed to follow him around now.

Bang Chan had only been on a handful of dates.

But if anyone in that room still doubted how he felt, they only had to look at him.

He couldn’t stop smiling. And for the first time in a long time, none of the others teased him for it. They simply smiled back. Happy that someone had found a way to make their ever dependable leader look so wonderfully, unmistakably smitten.

. . . Well, let’s be honest, he still would’ve rolled his eyes and told them to fuck off.

But hey! At least this time they wouldn’t be wrong, but he’d never admit that to their face. Or to anyone else’s for that matter.

The first time Bucky meets you, you almost slice his ear clean off.

Honestly? That’s the moment he thinks he fell in love with you. Love at first sight. . . or possible ear amputation, in this situation.

It was his own error. He was walking in the gym, too in his own head and oblivious to his surroundings to notice you and walked right in front of the target you were hurling throwing knives at. They were all crammed around the center. Defenitely could've got him if you wanted to.

There’s no panic, there’s no loud dramatics like gasps or hands flying to mouths in shock, you're not rushing to take a look and see if he’s okay and spewing out apologies.

You just stand there and narrow your eyes with a head tilt that doesn’t say you’re concerned, but rather you’re lucky.

“You good?” You ask simply.

Bucky's mouth goes dry, and he finds himself being able to only nod in response.

He was doomed from the very start.

———

After your first encounter, he kept running into you.

In the gym (again), the kitchen, the common room. He seemed to gravitate towards you like there was something nudging him in your direction.

Bucky’s the one to ask you on a date. No grand gestures, just a simple question in the hush of the quinjet on your way back from a mission. Broken, bloody and bruised, the sun setting behind you.

This was one of the moments where you were at your softest. You were exhausted, your arm resting in Bucky's careful palms so he could stitch together a small gash on your arm.

“This is gonna hurt.” He says softly.

“I’ve had worse.” You whisper gently. No flat tone or sarcasm falling from your mouth like usual. Just you, tired and recovering.

He cleans it with antiseptic, and you welcome the sting with a shaky inhale, eyes fluttering shut.

The silence stretches between you. Steve controls the jet upfront, taking the three of you back to compound. That’s when Bucky asks you on a date.

And to his surprise? You say okay.

He blinks like he heard you wrong, his gentle grasp on your wounded arm going slack, "Really?"

You shrug, "Sure, why not."

His mouth stays a little agape, and you shake your head softly and rest your head back against your seat. Your eyes flutter shutter, tapping his chin, "Close your mouth, Barnes. You'll catch flies in that trap."

Bucky blinks again, and then his mouth shuts promptly.

The date is nothing overly fancy, an Italian restaurant somewhere in downtown Manhattan because he overheard you in conversation with Natasha once about it and how much you liked their tiramisu.

You wear jeans, a simple top and a pair of heels, all various dark colours, hair pulled away from your face. When Bucky hears you coming he turns opens his mouth like a fish out of water when he catches sight if you. He stumbles over his words, shooting up from the couch and almost tripping over his own feet.

"With limbs flailing like that, no-one would ever believe you were the Winter Soldier," You quip with an unimpressed arch of your eyebrow, "Just a man with bad coordination."

"You, uh— you look, uh, really nice." He chokes.

"You don't look so bad yourself, Barnes." You reply, already sashaying your way to the exit, "Are you just going to stand there or am I going on my own?"

Bucky prays for strength and to not make an absolute fool of himself, scoops up his car keys, and then jogs after you.

———

Ever since that first date, and the dates that followed, Bucky has been so totally whipped, and he knows that.

Sam says that to his face at least three times a day.

Bucky doesn’t deny it, not once— he can't. 

You spar one time just for fun, and you told him not to take it easy on you. You both pounce at each other, hitting and deflecting like you were practicing choreography, like you had memorised what comes next after he swung his arm in a low arc.

You catch him off guard at one point, and suddenly your swinging up and around his neck before he can blink, thighs squeezing either side of his throat.

And he. . . doesn’t do anything.

Brain short circuits.

Bucky.exe has stopped working.

What a good way to go, is about the only thing rolling around in his brain.

“You’re distracted,” You pant as he sets you down, sweat dripping from your temples and wisps of hair sticking to your forehead.

“No shit,” Bucky huffs, his eyes lingering on you for longer than necessary, “Kinda what happens when you wrap your legs around my head.”

You shake your head, exasperated, “Always thinking with your downstairs brain.”

Bucky grins, “Only when it’s you.”

You give him a sharp stare that would probably unsettle anyone else. It just makes Bucky melt like ice-cream left in the sun.

Only you would wrap your legs around your boyfriend’s head and expect him not to be completely distracted by that. . . or maybe you do, and you’re messing with him. He can’t be sure, and your expression doesn’t give anything away.

All Bucky knows is if it’s psychological warfare you’re playing at?

He’ll never win.

———

You're stood at the foot of the bed, sorting your clothes, a basket of Bucky's waiting on the floor for its own turn to be sorted after.

“Sam says I dress like I’m going to a funeral,” You grumble, folding clothes with more vigour than necessary, “Who the fuck wears dark green to a funeral?”

Bucky approaches you from the doorway, pushing the door gently behind him. He wraps his arms around your waist, and you tense for a moment before letting yourself relax into him.

A kiss is pressed to the back of your neck, soft and gentle, “Think he just means you wear a lot of dark clothes, baby.”

“I know what he meant,” You mutter, folding socks over each other so you don’t lose the pair, “The comment was uncalled for.”

Bucky huffs a laugh into your shoulder. You squirm like you hate it, but Bucky knows you don’t. He nuzzles into, thumbs running in soothing circles over your hipbones. 

"Since when have you ever listened to Sam?" He murmur, peppering kisses against the soft skin behind your ear and trailing them down neck.

"I don't listen to Sam," You mumble, eyebrows furrowed and your lips pursed.

"He's trying to get under your skin."

"He's annoying."

"Aggravatingly so."

You lean into his touch as his hands curl around your hips to hold gently instead, until your eyes lock onto a basket of clothes that're pink and your body goes still.

"Bucky?" You say softly.

That tone of voice is never good.

That tone of voice means he's in trouble. 

He doesn't register it though, he only hums noncommittally. You feel the vibration against the sensitive skin of your neck that makes you flinch before you can try to stop yourself from reacting. 

Bucky grins, happy with himself, and lifts his head from your neck. He kisses your cheek, "Yeah, baby?"

You point at the basket of clothes he left on the floor, "What is that?"

His eyebrows furrow, looking at where your pointing, "My clean clothes?"

You grit your teeth and turn your head just enough to catch him in your peripheral, "Yes, but why are they pink?"

Bucky does a double-take, blinking at his clothes. He picks up the basket and sets it on the foot of the bed next to your neatly folded clothes. 

He chews on his bottom lip, "They looked white in the washing machine."

You scoff, "Oh, so the air made them pink?"

Bucky doesn't say a word.

You rummage through his clothes, dress shirts and t-shirts and vests and socks, until you find the culprit. You hold it up slowly, dangling it in front of him.

The look on your face says he's fucked up.

"Are you gonna kill me?" He blurts out.

"I might've if it was my clothes, but you did this to yourself," You huff, gesturing at the ruined pile of his clothes, "How do you even do this, Bucky?" 

He shrugs, "Wasn't paying attention."

You hold the offender in your hand— a single red sock. Not even a pair.

"I can see that," You deadpan, "Now your whites are all. . . pastel pink."

At least he has the audacity to look a little sheepish.

"You had one job," You continue, "Just one."

Bucky nods solemnly.

"I did."

"You failed. . . how do you fail washing clothes, Bucky?"

"I didn't fail washing them," He corrects, "They're clean, aren't they?"

You blink at him, "They're pink. They're supposed to be white!"

"I just— I missed the red sock!"

"You have pristine vision!" You exclaim, "You're a super-soldier, it's part of the package!"

"Yeah, but I don't have x-ray vision!"

You huff, shaking your head and muttering about your useless 106 year-old super-soldier boyfriend who can't wash clothes correctly under your breath.

You're complaining, but it still has the corners of Bucky's mouth upturn fondly.

He guides your hips to turn you around, wrapping his arms back around your waist, one hand splayed across your lower back, the other coming up to knead the back of your neck gently.

Your jaw grinds, and you stare at him, that same stare from the first day he saw you in the gym, but this time there's something else there. 

Love.

And it's for him.

And isn't that something special in itself?

"I'm sorry," He whispers softly, brushing hair from your face, "I'll never touch the washing again."

You try not to smile at that. It's a failing task.

"I'm an 106 year-old man, we didn't have washing machines," Bucky exaggerates a long sigh, "All this technology. . .”

"Alright, old man." You roll your eyes, patting his chest.

He grins, a thumb stroking over your cheek before leaning in to kiss you— slow and soft, a kiss that warms you on the inside and makes you melt. 

Something that makes you feel safe, cared for, loved.

Everything the two of you deserved to be.

"I love you," Bucky murmurs against your lips, soft like a prayer, his hand cradling your cheek.

"I love you too," You sigh in a rare defeat, nipping at his lower lip in warning, "But if you ever do that to my clothes, Bucky. . ."

"Told you, I'll never touch the washing machine again," He offers quickly, "Or try to be helpful."

You roll your eyes with a lingering smile, "Might be for the best."

You can still feel the honeyed trace of his lips that had just been pressed to yours, residual warmth still seeping into your skin like sunlight. 

If he's going to kiss you like that? You ought to have to him apologising more often.

He tilts your head just enough to kiss you a second time, pouring love into you as if it comes from an endless source that lives in his chest. 

Your eyes flutter shut, hands coming up to cup his cheeks, and suddenly the reason why you were mad at him in the first place slowly begins to fade away.

Later, he'll buy you flowers as an apology. A small bunch of red roses and he'll make a silly joke about the two of you and true love. You'll scoff and give him a playful shove, but you'll take the bouquet and inhale the floral scent. You'll gingerly untie the ribbon and put it in your pocket, filling a vase with water and placing the flowers inside with the utmost care.

But for right now? You can settle for this.

———

Some of Bucky's favourite moments with you is in the morning, specifically when the sun is rising and shines through your bedroom window.

Hues of orange and yellow bleed into the darkness of the room, slithering through the gaps in the curtains that had been haphazardly drawn the night prior.

Your face, illuminated by the rising sun from its golden light spills into the room and streaks across your face, will be an image he will never be able to rid from his mind.

In your sleep you had always looked serene, as though the traumatic weight you carry on your shoulders doesn't exist at all. The wrinkle between your usually furrowed eyebrows is smooth and that flat, unimpressed look you usually wear is nowhere to be seen.

It's just you, stripped of that façade you wear like armour. 

Sometimes, he can't believe that he's lucky enough to see you just as you are.

Bucky tucks hair that had fallen in your face behind your ear, and the soft sweep of his fingertips against your skin has your face twitch, the corners of your lips quiver at the fleeting touch.

"Shhh," He hushes softly as you shift, seeking him out with a deep sigh.

That alone could've made him melt.

His grumpy girl, searching for him even when she was asleep. 

Your hand settles against his chest and a leg weaves between his. Bucky watches the tension that had started to rise in your body slowly dissipate until you were pilant against the sheets once more. 

He smiles, his metal arm enveloping your back, and curls his free hand over yours where it rests against his heart.

———

You in your element is something that Bucky will never quite get over.

He watches you move— dangerous and deadly, your body twisting fluidly and your limbs swing in arcs meant to deliver heavy blows to take down men that're twice your size.

Bucky sighs wistfully.

Sam blinks, looking both mildly frustrated and slightly horrified at his reaction.

“She’s doing her job, Buck.”

Bucky huffs, “Yeah, but she looks good doing it.”

“Are you two finished with your mother's meeting or what?" You yell, glancing over your shoulder at them with a withering stare.

Someone takes this as the chance to try and rush you.

You curse under your breath, exasperated and utterly irritated, jaw clenched as your body moves fluidly, whirling around on your heel and swinging your leg in the air. The heel of your boot connects with his face, a sickening crunch under it where his nose snaps to the side. 

He staggers from the force of it and swears, trying to grasp clumsily at your leg in his disorientation. You grab him by his shoulders and smack his head against your knee hard, and he falls like a sack of potatoes— unconscious.

"Seems like you have it handled." Sam quips.

You roll your eyes, pointing a throwing knife at him, "Careful, Wilson, or it'll be you next."

"What about me?"

"You're such a machochist, dude." Sam huffs with a shake of his head, following redwing down one of the corridor's that'll hopefully lead you all where you need to go.

"If you want a punishment, James, you know where to find me." You tease with a roll of you eyes, but there's a hint of a smile there.

And that's for him.

When he doesn't move from his spot, you huff softly and take his wrist to drag him along with you to follow Sam, still failing to hold off that smile, "C'mon, old man."

Bucky grins and trails behind you like a puppy.

There's no place he'd rather be.