Lottie! -

Lottie!, 19, Joaquín’s girl

[magikdarkholme]

Liv’s navigation❤️‍🔥

19 | actor | teaching student | Joaquin Torres n1 stan xx

Started this blog to read more fanfics when I was like 14 I think… this was my graduation from wattpad lol!!!

❤️‍🩹I love you, it’s ruining my life🛸

my links 🐶

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MCU masterlist ❤️‍🔥

Xmen masterlist ❌

SKZ masterlist 🐶🐿️

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[mattdexx]

FFS IF YOU ARE DOING A CHARACTER X OC FIC STOP FUCKING TAGGING THAT SHIT AS CHARACTER X READER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! AND IF YOU ARE USING FACE CLAIMS FOR THE STORY IT IS ALSO NOT AN X READER FIC!!!!!!!!!!!!!! FUCKING HELL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀

[magikdarkholme]

Bitch ur doing that rn😑😑😑😑😑

[magikdarkholme]

So hungover rn but I might crank out a few fics… we shall see

[illinicoise]

“But if you forget to reblog Madame Zeroni, you and your family will be cursed for always and eternity.”

[spn-fandom-breathing-heavily]

not even risking that shit

[codyslipring-deactivated2015060]

scrolled past this, re-evaluated my life, then SCROOOLLLED back up and hit the damn reblog button. 

[isamaegreenleaf]

Last comment same thing. Sorry to the next person who sees this. I just can’t risk it. I have things I need to do before my life becomes hell. Lol

[nnfirnid]

man i fucking hate yall who tf put this up knowing damn well we all gonna reblog it im heated im really sick af bout this 

[modelinterrupted]

I don’t play that shit lol sorry

[latenightsugar]

WHyyyy

[badgyal-k-deactivated20190901]

Sorry everyone

[just-jay25]

If only if only the woodpecker sighs the bark on the tree was as soft as the sky why the wolf waits below hungry and lonely he cries to the moon if only if only

[kixgbear]

Shiddd

[angiebkxo-deactivated20180626]

this post followed me to Facebook and im sooo annoyed!

[manynamedshe]

It’s been a MINUTE since I’ve seen Madame Zeroni, fr fr

[glamhoeour-deactivated20251207]

I HATE TUMBLR FKKKK SAKES

LMAOOOO

[venusians]

Not tryna fuck up any of my planetary Returns~

[edge-of-great]

One time I didn’t and I was broke for like a month but the next time I seen it I rebloged it and a bitch just got 500 out the blue and a 20 gift card

[yoyolovesdaiki]

Reblogging for 2020. Happy New Year, everyone.

[darkgvk]

I’m not risking it

[infiniteoddball]

After 2020??? This shit isn’t a joke!

[legitimatelala]

I’m actually so thankful this popped up right now because I need that and this post always works

[coffeeforfrogs]

To everyone who sees this bc of my dumb ass im sorry but I already have bad enough luck as it is sooo say hi to Madame Zeroni

[downeyjrfreak]

Never seen this lady before, but not gonna risk it 🤷‍♂️

[thevoidstaredback]

Madame Zeroni? I’ll die before I don’t reblog

[wearerandomlyyours]

Nope, reblog. Every printer in the hospital went down today and I ain’t fucking with a curse on top of that

[starstruckunknown-princess]

Every. Damn. Time.

[hyccinths]

my fav movie/book when i was little omg

[agoodbyemelody]

omg holes…. holes…

[rae-gar-targaryen]

alight with the lights out | diego hargreeves x reader [tua]

A/N: Thank you for all of your interest after I posted the teaser! It was VERY surprising and humbling; I’ve NEVER had so many people ask for a tag before. I only ask that if you asked for a tag, you interact with this fic SOMEHOW. And go find another story you love and REBLOG IT! LET THAT WRITER KNOW YOU LOVE THEM!

I’ll be honest, I’m very nervous about this one. I’m not sure if it turned out as good on paper as it did in my head. Please let me know what you liked and what you didn’t!

Pairing: Diego Hargreeves x vigilante, powered!Reader; this one may read a bit more like an OC because I’ve given the reader backstory, powers. She’s (you’re) a vigilante who regularly runs into Diego. I keep the physical description vague, so I hope you can still imagine yourself! 

Warnings: Language; who doesn’t love getting a little sweary? Violence, fighting, references to a shitty childhood, and separately, implied sexual assault (nothing graphic, I promise); angst and angsty dialogue; SMUT– 18+ ONLY PLEASE; lots of cocktease dialogue, fingering, pierced nipples (the reader’s not Diego’s– sorry), biting, rough sex, choking. Romance is its own warning. Fluff.

Word Count: 12.1k of sexy, self-righteous vigilantism, half-baked metaphor and of course, at least one literary reference. 

Summary: Diego Hargreeves, aka The Kraken, is secure about few things in life; one of those things being his vigilantism. He’s a hero. Until he meets a fighter who shares the same hobby, albeit with different methodologies. Diego isn’t quite as certain about her, but her mysterious abilities make him think he and his siblings aren’t the only ones in this world with power. If only she and Diego could just stay out of each others’ hair. It’s a good, old-fashioned ENEMIES TO LOVERS, lads!

Link to my playlist of songs that inspired this fic: here

NOT MY GIF

—-

You wouldn’t hurt anyone who didn’t deserve it. That was rule number one. Hell, if you could get away with it at all, you wouldn’t hurt anyone. 

But Mr. Adler hated children. And he had made it his mission to not understand you. To regard you with the utmost disdain. And unfortunately for you, Mr. Adler had married your mother when you were six years old. 

You had never known another father. Your mother refused to talk about the circumstances of your birth, or of the man who had supposedly been responsible. The lack of identity loomed like a large question mark over certain portions of your life. 

And Mr. Adler, that loud, controlling lout, was not about to fill that void. 

When you were in elementary school, you began to feel like you were different from the other children. Watching them carry about their days with their steel-pressed pop culture lunch boxes and not a care in the world. While you sensed your music teacher’s sadness when her cat had died. You could feel every anxiety that passed through your classmates on the day of a spelling test. You didn’t know why you could feel these things. You just could.

Keep reading

[fawniesung]

whole house mad

warnings: fluff, crack, cursing, 8th member!reader, poly!dreamies x reader, yn is kinda a brat :D

summary: yn who lives to annoy dreamies 😇 ft renjuns beautiful elegant chanel outfit

[ncteez]

M.I.L.F. (Make It Last Forever) ― L.DH

Haechan, a favorite among classy wives to hire during the hot summer season for a nice, thorough pool cleaning, seems to have a favorite wife of his own.  You.  Or the one where Haechan was the pain-in-your-ass son of the family you used to babysit for, but now he’s making it his mission to be the pain-in-your-ass pretend husband that you never asked for, but very clearly need. 

minors dni 

PAIRING ― lee haechan  x afab milf!reader  

WORDCOUNT― 18.9k

CONTENT―  age gap: reader is 31  and haechan is 24, milf trope/single mother reader, college pool boy haechan (turned part time babysitter), reader has 1 kid and haechan really wants to give her another, reader has morals!! haechan just doesn’t see it as a moral issue, he is actually very sweet 

!WARNINGS! ―  age gap, haechan is somewhat of a manipulator, he’s gentle but won’t take no for an answer. dub-con in one instance. major breeding kink and kind of a mommy and daddy kink (domesticity), angst regarding reader and her ex husband, reader has huge tits 

NOTE ― this was written for jay from enhypen over on my other blog, but i am gifting it to you guys here as well! I WROTE THEM BOTH!!!! NOT PROOF READ.

nsfw tags under cut

nsfw tags― thick big dick haechan, small instant dubious consent, tit obsessed haechan, groping and grinding, mommy/daddy kink, breeding kink, unprotected sex, cum stuffing-ish,pussy eating, fingering, basically it’s haechan doing stuff to you,  this ain’t smut this is making love, also reader doesn’t shave her coochie and haechan fucking loves it.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Having a stray eye isn’t typically something you afford yourself when it comes to men. Things tend to change with time though, that much you know is true. 

It was proven to you for the first time when your ex husband decided to up and leave you three weeks before your due date for a woman–well, girl, fresh out of highschool. Years of trust and promises crushed with just a single sentence and a slam of the door. Time must’ve changed you for him to leave so heartlessly. Time must’ve changed him to become so cold. 

 It was proven again when you were able to heal despite never believing you could. Seconds of pain turned to minutes, to hours. Days. weeks. Months. Years of pain before being able to wake up and feel somewhat numb to it all. Like a flip switch in your head that told you that you can be happy now even if as a single mother. After all, the hard part was over. 

It took some four to five years, but it did happen. Time did change you, it healed you, it matured you. As your child grew, so did you. And for the better, you think. You count your blessings of living a life far more lavish than you ever could have anticipated given the circumstances that had been thrown at you. Even to the point of nesting, wanting another child, wanting a big and happy family. But alas, your ex husband had better things to do. 

At the end of the day, you’d never be able to call this home yours if you had stayed with your ex husband. He didn’t like this kind of “flashy” lifestyle, and to him, everything you wanted seemed too flashy for him. Perhaps he was right to some extent, as you recognize the brand name goods you now own, solely because you had promised yourself in the depths of your despair that you’ll get to a point in life where you can buy yourself everything you not only need, but want. So, here you are, owning an expensive home, in a nice neighborhood, with a nice car and a nice pool. 

Your daughter has everything she could want and need too, aside from a sibling, it’s certainly still more than what you had growing up and it’s all because of you. A fully decorated bedroom drenched in glitter, purples, creams, yellows, and pink, her favorite color. All sorts of play houses, costumes, dolls, a few lego sets, and even some plastic swords and knives for the days she wants to pretend to be her favorite movie characters. Clothes she can grow into, and a nice little fund building up for her as she grows up. Her first car, college, help for a downpayment on her own first house. 

Both of you have everything you could ever want or need and for that, you’re so proud. Especially knowing your husband would have never believed you could make it this far without him. Still, despite having everything you could ever ask for, there’s something in you that feels empty.

Time changes things. 

Time changes a lot of things, you note more than usual, as the man you’ve been ogling for the past three weeks makes himself far more known to you than you ever wished he would.

The interaction with him was always so quick before today and given the fact that he was a complete stranger, you never quite invited him into your home considering–you know, small child and all. You had hired him over text. Haechan, your neighbor said his name was. His handsome features didn’t offer you anything more than a clean pool and a wandering eye. 

Your neighbor apparently has a friend who has a cousin that has an even nicer pool than you do. Given, it’s only a nicer pool due to the fact that this young man, Haechan, tended to it weekly and made damn sure it could be drunk out of if a person had a craving for chlorine. 

You feel like an idiot now that it didn’t dawn on you quick enough. Sure, he looked a bit familiar to you but who doesn’t when you’re always out and about seeing so many different faces on a daily basis? His name, Haechan, didn’t ring any bells. Now though, the shame of staring at his sweaty pecs and biceps came crashing down the moment you realized who Haechan actually is. 

He didn’t do a damn thing to remind you either, if anything, all he did was walk around all sweaty in the afternoon heat with his tank top either sticking to him, or off entirely. It appears that you had just been too busy running errands with your child, considering his shifts were always when you were home. Too busy cooking, cleaning, reading, lounging. Too busy looking at…well, not his face. 

Too busy to give the man a glance more than that of a slice of pie behind a bakery window. 

Haechan. 

Since fucking when was that his name?

“Lee Donghyuck.” You whimper near mortified, three weeks too late as you hand him his pay with nervous hands. “Spray-cheese in my hair Donghyuck?” 

“Ah, was wondering when you’d pick up on that.” He smiles at you with that crooked grin, a knowing look that any man at a bar would give you if he had caught you checking him out. Then, he pockets the hefty amount of cash that you hand to him. “I go by Haechan more often these days.” He trails off, an amused smirk half-falling as he looks at your expression of realization. “You can call me whatever you want though.”

He’s well aware of how often you’ve checked him out since he started intentionally taking his clothes off. After all, it’s mid-july by this point and the sun baring down on him doesn’t quite call for a fucking turtle neck sweater. Or a T-shirt, or a tank top, for that matter. It calls for all skin baby, beautifully tanned and toned for you and any of your neighbors to look at if they so wanted to. 

Haechan doesn’t work out for nothing, after all. Summer after summer, he’s found himself to be quite fond of the rich women that hire him for their pool services. Always wanting an attractive young man to wander around half naked and satiate their lack of sex life with their husbands, or boytoys, or what have you. He knows all that extra pay isn’t because he does a good job either. He’s gotten winks, small comments, even a few offers of his body for more pay.

He’s turned them all down, of course. For a full-on affair, anyway. Haechan has gotten a few blow jobs and quickies as a tip before though, and a lot of that is why he keeps getting referred to more women. Richer women. Never single women. 

Until you. 

He quite enjoyed catching you looking at him. Especially given the fact that he knew exactly who you were when you introduced yourself to him via text. That little childhood crush on you came back within an instant upon actually seeing you again. Truly, he had forgotten all about you up until that fateful day three weeks ago. 

If he’s being honest, he’s been pining something fierce since he first stepped foot on your property. Excitement swelled inside of him just to see you again. To see if you’re still hot, to see how you’re doing, what you’re doing. How your life is going.

 He knew you didn’t recognize his nickname through text, and he definitely knew you didn’t recognize him to be eating him up with those eyes of yours either. So, he played along, enjoying it while he could before it would inevitably dawn on you. Still, he remembers you so well from back then. Crazy to know that he rarely thought of you for the past twelve years or so, and how all those little butterflies of his came back in a far more mature way. He was only twelve back then, but he’s a man now. 

Twenty four and perfectly sound as a man who knows what he likes. The fact that you happen to fall into that category is no fault of his own, honestly. It’s your fault if anyone’s at all. Haechan is a man that likes a specific type of woman too. Woman. Not a girl, not a young lady, not a free spirit, nor a prude. He is drawn to the idea of experience, to the idea of settling down. It’s not easy to find that at his age, in college, surrounded by party girls and casual drug use. 

And, well, imagine his smile upon seeing your lovely, lavish home with the large pool, no ring on your finger, a whole fucking child, and your motherly instincts when you buckle her into the car for an errand. Oh and the broken fence in the far back of your yard.

You’re a single mom. 

A hot single mom who lives lavishly. One who could probably use a man’s help around your house.

He half expected you to be able to recognize him when he appeared for work the first time. He even had a monologue in his head on what to say to you, and how to present himself. You didn’t seem to take notice though, introducing yourself to him as if you hadn’t spent all that time in his childhood home when you were a teenager. Like you never mothered him, or put him to sleep with the soft stories when you let him watch all those scary movies before bed. Even at twelve, he was a scaredy cat.

 Clearly you’re too busy experiencing life to notice the way he fawns over you too. Hating how you’re more reserved than the other lavish, fixed-up women. You seem to have standards, or maybe it’s just priorities ... that's so hot. Truly, it only makes him want you more because by now, the other women would already be rubbing all over him. The ones who shouldn’t be wanting him the way they do. So, yes, he’s always stealing glances at you with sparkling dark eyes, fantasizing in his head that this pool is his to clean now, because that’s what a good man would do for you, right? With him around servicing your pool and lawn, you’d never need to hire or spend money on another broke ass college student again.

Yes. That’s how quickly he fell into this infatuation solely because you looked at him like you want it without realizing who he was. Hell, without realizing how perfect you are in terms of what he wants.

God, how are you still single? 

Like, why do you have a child and a house so beautiful without a man wandering around doing all of this work for you? Not that you couldn’t do it on your own, it’s just, you clearly have the means to make a man do as you please. Why haven’t you?

You happen to fall almost perfectly into the categories of what he’s looking for. Save for the fact that now you recognize him as that kid you used to babysit rather than the man who tries to be sexy while cleaning your pool. Which is a fucking shame, if he’s being honest, to be written off as that same ten year old child rather than a fucking man who very clearly has needs and desires. 

The point is– Haechan wants you and he parades around your pool for you to look at him. So what if you used to babysit him? It’s not like you’re an old swamp-hag trying to lure him with candy. You’re just…a woman. And he’s just a man. 

“Well, thank you for cleaning again,” You trail off in an awkward tone, shifting your eyes to anywhere but him. He watches you though, smiling a smile you know all too well from his childhood antics. It must mean something different now, or maybe not. “I guess I’ll see you next week?” 

“Well, actually,” Haechan offers, “Would you be opposed to–” You cut him off instantly with an awkward wave of your hand.

You don’t know why you make assumptions, maybe from that damned smile on his face, but you do recall your ex husband reminding you time and time again that it’s one of the things he hated about you. 

Assumptions. Always thinking the worst, or perhaps the most filthy of situations and expressions. To be fair, you feel guilty about how you’ve been looking at him, you can’t help but panic trying to pretend like it never happened, and that he never saw it happen.

“I’m not interested, Donghyuck.” You respond hastily, pressing your thumb to your bottom lip to bite the skin on it, keeping your eyes away from him with the awkward words. After all, he knew who you were this whole time and paraded around like that? 

Even before recognizing him yourself, you know men well enough to know when they’re trying to flaunt. Is it so wrong to assume?

“Interested in what?” Haechan tilts his head knowingly, seeing the way you buckle under the guilt of staring at the very man you used to tuck into bed every night. He can see the way you try to push those sexual thoughts you had away in the quick rejection to a simple assumption. 

 “I was just going to ask if you want me to fix your fence.” 

Ah, you did get ahead of yourself through the guilt, and you’re far too aware of it as you draw your eyes back to him and note the expression on his face. Amused, maybe a bit of concern in his eyes, even? 

“Ah, um–” You start, trailing your eyes down your fence line never once noticing a break in it. Haechan is quick to point though, leaning to you with a whisper of “right there.” And well, you did not need to hear that tone in his voice the way you just did.

God, it’s so awkward.

“Well, how much would that cost me?” You question with an empty voice, staring at the broken fence. 

“Free.” He uses the same tone, leaning away from you now and smiling wide. “That is, if you provide lunch.” 

Well, despite the awkwardness, that break over there would cost you a pretty penny to fix, and your daughter needs the safety of playing in her own yard without random animals or worse, people, making their way in. Plus, you’re quite fond of saving money. How else would you be here if you weren’t good at it? And now, given that you’re most definitely not interested in Haechan, what's the harm in making a few sandwiches for someone you already know well enough? It’s not like you’ve never made him lunch before.

The awkwardness will pass and your guilt will subside. You both will laugh at it over a cold glass of iced lemonade, surely. It’s not like you realized who he was anyway, it’s not like you’re just gonna keep looking at him like that. You should just push forward and it’ll all be fine. 

“Hell, I’d even watch the kiddo so you can have a break every now and then.” He watches your reaction, wanting to ask so many questions about why you’re single, who the father is, where he is, why he isn’t here. “After all, I learned quite a bit from you.” 

For a second you consider that too.

And there’s three reasons as to why you should. The first being that you were literally just looking for a new child care facility due to learning of the staff coming to work while sick. Your poor daughter came home with a fever just last week, and you’ve had little luck in finding a place with the same educational benefits for her. 

The second being that, well, while you’re not hurting for cash or anything, it wouldn’t hurt to be able to put a little more back for her college fund. Or for fun little vacations. 

And lastly, despite your guilt of lusting over someone you shouldn’t have, you know Donghyuck and you know his family even better. No background check would be needed, your daughter could be in the comfort of her own home rather than a classroom setting that she’s sure to see for at least twenty years of her life in the future. 

So, yes. You consider it instantly, and Haechan sees it. 

You only know of the childhood version of him and, well, the slutty pool-side version of him apparently. If only you knew of that other side of him and how fond he is of watching his own younger cousins. How good he is with children, and how much he clings to the idea of being a father one day.

Haechan is great with kids, with or without them having a hot mom.

And well, he knows that he’s fond of looking at you at least. Besides, as long as you can work with his class schedules, he’d be willing to do just about anything to play pretend-husband, even if you’re unaware of it. 

“Is that so?” You finally ask, curious eyes looking at him with a furrowed brow. “Shouldn’t you be out living the life? College parties and such?” You add, wondering why such a great deal has managed to flop down on your lap. The idea of even cheaper childcare without the risk of unvaccinated children, and sick caretakers being far too good of a deal to pass up. 

“Well, yeah I guess.” He shrugs, leaning backwards to stretch and roll his shoulders. “Not really my scene though. I have classes Monday and Wednesday all day, Tuesday and Thursdays my classes are online. If you can work around that, I’d rather just be making money and chilling.” 

You think about it just for a second more when he continues. 

“I can be here on weekends too. Maybe you should be the one out relaxing and having some drinks.” 

“Well, I don’t quite need that, or for you to be here on weekends.” You think as you say it, knowing you have given up on going out to try and meet men two years ago. “I could pay you though, let’s say, thirty an hour?” 

Well, shit, that’s not too bad at all, especially considering he’s about to give up on cleaning the pools of a few women in his contacts for this. It’s a major pay cut, but still enough to get by comfortably if you’ll have him multiple times a week. That plus the pool cleaning money? And free lunch? 

“Oh, you don’t go out at all? I don’t see why not, could probably get a man in no time–” Haechan ignores the wage offer and pushes to note the singlehood he had been noticing for the past three weeks. “and the pay is fine.” 

“Ah, well, the dating pool isn’t so great in this neck of the woods.” You scratch the back of your neck when you say it. “That aside, I'll have her in day care on the days you can’t be here, but it really would be a big help. Thank you for the offer, Donghyuck. And for the fence too.” 

He watches you with a firm nod, shoving his hands into the pockets of his basketball shorts, still entirely shirtless in front of you. 

“And the pool.” You add quietly after a moment. 

“I think you’d be surprised about the dating pool.” He smiles as he pushes the subject back to what you had previously said, hoping you believe those words before continuing. “So, when do you want me to start?” 

“Is tomorrow too soon? You’re okay to set up here with your online classes?”

“Tomorrow is perfect.” He smiles.

“I’m sure she would be so happy knowing she won’t be going to daycare–” You clap, feeling a bit less awkward despite the boldness of the man in front of you. You’re sure he’s just teasing you for knowing you checked him out. “I know I am.” 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

It’s a little too perfect, actually.

After that first day of watching your child and making a lazy attempt at “fixing your fence,” he’s settled in like it’s home. He wishes it was, with the lavish lifestyle in a house far too pretty compared to his own living space with piles upon piles of laundry he’s too lazy to pick up for himself. 

It’s different for you though. Different when he’s here.

Truly, he feels like he’s living the life after a couple of weeks with decent pay and a comfy space to do his homework. He watches your child, which is arguably the hardest part of the job but she’s well behaved for him. In fact, she seems to have taken a shine to him.

He’s starting to be very intentional with taking far too long to work on your fence too, and still maintaining your pool. He’s trying to drag this out for as long as he can. Even if just to see if you still look at him when you come home the same way you did before recognizing him. You never do though. When his shirt is off and he’s wiping his forehead in the sun, you don’t look at him anymore.

Hell, he’s even considered breaking things in your home just to give himself more jobs to do. More things that make him feel needed, like a husband. More things that you thank him for fixing, even if it breaks again two days later.

And ah, the food in your fridge is always free reign to him, that large television in the living room too. God, sometimes he dreads going home, and by sometimes, he means all the time. Who in their right mind would ever fucking want to live outside of this lifestyle? He really can’t believe you’re single, nor can he believe that he has the opportunity to be in your home, close to you. It shouldn’t take too long now to convince you, right? That you don’t necessarily have to be single? That you need him around to live even more comfortably?

In short, Haechan is in his head about how he’s practically just roleplaying as your stay-at-home husband before having to go back to his shitty little apartment and remind himself that he’s just a fucking college student with no interest in the people on campus. And like, even with the way you come home from work, all groggy and exhausted on the days he’s there, you always thank him before giving him his pay. What he likes best about those nights is when you’re too exhausted to even pay him and you promise to do it next time.

In his mind, that’s you promising to see him again. 

He could give less of a shit about the pay at this point, as long as he gets to be in this house, smelling your favorite candles and dish detergents, seeing you, being a semi-father to a child who deserves more love than the two of you combined can give…he’ll fucking do anything you want for free. 

It’s difficult sometimes, like he really can’t help it. Some days wandering around this house and imagining how the two of you could have landed on buying it together. How the rooms would be organized if he were here from the start. Claiming his spot on your couch like any dad would. Playing dolls with your daughter, laughing with her, letting her paint his nails and put his hair in little pigtails. He even cleans your pool as if it were his own, meaning, he genuinely cleans it. 

He has taken it upon himself to mow your lawn, confusing the yard workers that you apparently hired years ago. Did he accidentally fire them? Maybe, but any good husband would save you money, right? He checks your mail, waves to your neighbors and lets them make assumptions. 

And every single fucking night it’s harder and harder to go back home.

Especially after a full day of playing dad then seeing you come back so tired. Turning off that switch in his head isn’t easy. He wants to greet you like the husband you don’t have. He wants to ease your hard days in so many ways. Tell you he’s proud of you, that you still look so pretty after an exhausting shift of whatever the fuck you do. He wants to serve you dinner, run you a bath, fix your hair, lay you down– oh, he’s fantasizing again. Unfortunately, he has to settle with seeing the relief on your face when he lets you know in a soft voice that he’s cooked dinner and he will heat it up for you before leaving, kiddo is in her room sleeping, no dishes in the sink, and laundry is folded and put away. 

He loves the appreciation in your eyes, and sometimes even sees a glint of sadness. He can tell you wish you had this from a person who isn’t here for pay. Someone who loves you, and loves your child, and feels joy in making your life easier. 

Fuck, if only you knew. 

And  you’d be lying if you tried to say Haechan isn’t a godsend to you on the days he babysits. Many times you find yourself wishing he’d just move in and do everything that you can’t do. You’d pay him well, give him a guest room, whatever. But it’s just…not viable to support a full time employee like that, nor is it fair to your daughter. 

She needs a parent, not a paid college student who needs some extra cash. You have to be that parent, you have to make time for her and witness all of her joys in life. You have to protect her and never bring in faces of men who claim to want to be a father, only to run and break her heart more than your own. 

For now, you settle with this godsend of a little shit you used to babysit. Still you can barely believe that’s the same person, but again…time changes things. And thankfully, the awkwardness of what you did has died down drastically.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Today, you’re more thankful for Haechan than you have been previously. After a heavy workload has been lifted off your back with the approval of this project, you need a night out. For the first time in years, you’re giving yourself a night out, all because you have someone you can trust to be here for your daughter.

He was so understanding when you called,  happy to come over right then and there to put her to bed and mostly just house-sit for the night. Even without an end time for him, and even without asking for extra pay, he just…accepted with an understanding tone and that stupid breathy chuckle he gives to you when you ask for favors. “What? You need me there right now? I’m putting on my shoes.” He had said.

It’s the fact that now, as he sits on your couch looking at you in your chosen outfit– he seems a little off. Maybe it’s because you asked him where the best spots in town are because it’s been so long since you’ve gone out, or maybe he just feels awkward seeing so much skin on your body. 

To be fair, he didn’t realize you were going out out. He thought that maybe you were gonna go stay with a friend to celebrate and have a drink or two. 

In reality though, he’s just awestruck. Already you look great even after your busy days at work but…this is a different level. The way your tits look in that push-up bra and tiny ass top, when he’s used to seeing you head out in some sort of business casual outfit without an ounce of skin showing save for your ankles or wrists…jesus. He’s struggling more than usual to keep himself calm around you, hopping up on one leg when you walk away to try and adjust the chub in his pants, and releasing a small sigh before you’re looking at him again.

His skin feels like it’s on fire knowing you’re going out looking like that.

“You sure you're okay to sleep over? I figure it’ll be easier since I’m not sure when I’ll come home, or if I come home.” You smile with a wink, your stomach in knots over the two shots you’ve taken for the first time in years. “I can call my friends and tell them not to come if you’d rather focus on your studies.” 

Haechan shakes his head, waving his hands in defense for you as if he didn’t just see the way your tits bounce and squish against your shirt with each move you make. 

“No, no! Go on, have fun.” He says, encouraging you to go out despite hoping you come home with no luck of finding a man out there. 

Just, look at you. Fuck, he’s staring again. He hates knowing that he could be one of the guys at whatever bar or club you’re landing on tonight. He could be the person that makes sure you don’t come home, getting to plant his face right there. He could be whatever you want him to be if you’re looking like that. 

But no, he has to play husband again, which is normally something he’s all too excited to do. Tonight though, he feels like a fucking cuckold. After everything he does for you, after not mentioning how you’ve skipped a few of his payments, after slaving away for hours over your pool, your household chores, fixing and breaking that fucking dishwasher, cooking you dinner every single night he’s here just to make sure you have a meal when you get off of work…you imply you may not come home tonight?

And you’re dressed like that?

And you’re…

God, you just look so good right now. It pains him to know you didn’t dress like this for him, the only man who cares enough to make your life easy. He’s not mad at you, per se, but he’s pissed that you don’t see him as an option despite showing you time and time again that not only is he an option, but the right choice. 

This is what you look like when you want to impress a man? This is how you act? How you talk? Fuck, god, fuck– maybe he’s just too deep in his one-sided roleplay but it really, really fucking feels like he’s watching his woman go off and look for someone else to fuck.

“Thank you, Donghyuck,” You smile, walking over to him with a saunter in your step and a gentle smile across your lips. 

He’s never heard you speak his name so sensually, the way his cock twitches forces him to wince away from you. He’s never even seen you saunter before. Fucking hell, somehow it feels worse seeing you act like this after how many times he’s imagined it, all alone in his room. 

A slow walk from you, with the strap of your shirt slipping off your shoulder, fat tits threatening to spill out, lifting the hem of your skirt, or dress, or whatever you’re wearing in his fantasy at that point. Your voice, so soft, so sexy. And you’re practically bringing his fantasy to life right now, except he knows you’re going to fucking walk away from him like this. Into the fucking arms of some random dude at a club. 

Probably some loser he’s seen on campus too.

“It means a lot.” You add, popping a quick, platonic kiss to the top of his forehead. 

Ah, lip gloss. That little kiss on him is enough to ignite him to the point of no return. He almost wants to skip the part of asking you not to go and straight up just beg that you pick him, that you choose him. It’s not just your home, or the luxuries that come with it. It’s you that he wants. You’re the fucking luxury and you’re just gonna go to some sticky-floored club and pretend he’s not clearly checking you the fuck out right now? Like he’s not about three seconds from dropping to his knees just to see you from the angle you deserve?! 

“It’s no problem.” Haechan relents, dropping himself onto your couch instead and adjusting his body to sink deep into the cushions just to keep himself from arguing against everything he’s giving you permission to do right now. 

Hah. Permission.

“Be safe.” He adds in an even more monotone voice. “I’ll be here when you get back.” 

And god, he seethes in his thoughts after you close that door and hop into the car with your friends. You don’t look like a mother tonight, and he wonders if you’ll be upfront and forward with anyone you intend to hit on too. Probably not. He’s well aware of the men in this city, after all, he’s one of them.

It’s really not something he can control after seeing you like that either. Your child is already in bed and he’s just sitting here on your couch with a throbbing, fucking weeping cock thinking about you. What’s stopping him from taking care of it? You’re not here, after all. 

You’re not fucking here. But everything about you is. 

And that’s how he finds himself in your bedroom for the first time, barely making it a foot into the room before closing the door and dropping to the floor. The scent in your room is different. It’s feminine, gentle, like the energy is kissing him all over and sending goosebumps straight to the head of his cock. He couldn’t even pull it out, already holding his breath with his hand down his pants, vigorously trying to get what he wants so badly yet knowing that his hand will never compare to you. 

And it’s here where he feels like a husband. Spilling against his pants with a silent, choked back sob as he stares forward at your bed, and the way you didn’t make it this morning. It’s messy, and he wants to be in that mess of sheets with you more than anything. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Haechan hates that he’s now forced to get used to your late night ventures. Every weekend now. Every. Fucking. Weekend.  You ask if he’s willing to stay over so you can go unwind, and despite his better (or worse) judgment, he accepts. The only solace he finds in these ventures is knowing you consistently come back home right after usual closing times, and you’re mostly sober. Sometimes a bit whiny that you’re not lucking out, worrying that maybe you’re too old now, or maybe you’re just not as desirable. There have even been a few times where you’ve exposed your ex husband during your rants, giving Haechan little hints to follow as to why you’re single, and how he left you. 

Still, he knows in your tipsy state that you usually wouldn’t talk about these things with him, but he’s all too happy to get the details once you come home. Mostly because it calms his rising rage at how you’re doing this to not only him, but yourself. It’s mostly because you’re technically coming home to him though. 

And every single time, you go back to your bedroom to grab his payment even though it could wait until morning, considering he’s been sleeping in the guest room– all he can think about is how he’s been in your room. He’s gotten off countless times by now by the smell of your room alone, still barely able to even reach your bed to lay in it himself for a better experience. God, he’s probably memorized each little fray in your carpeted bedroom floor by now with how much he’s zoned out on it mid-jerk off session right there on his knees at your door. 

He’s truly pathetic for you. 

This time though…three in the morning has passed and normally you’d have been stumbling through the door an hour ago. Normally, he’d be fighting back the need to tell you that you’re beautiful, not too old, and entirely desirable. Normally, he would be fisting his cock again in your guest room before sleep, getting off on the idea that he can cum in a house that you live in, smothered by the sheets you meticulously picked out to match the walls of the room. Moaning for you, practically crying for you to let him do it all. 

Have you really done it this time? Gone off with some man? Are you getting railed right now in some hotel, or car, or someone’s shitty man-cave? God, his mind is racing, both aroused at the fact that you must be horny to be constantly wanting to go out like this, but equally as devastated because like…he’s right here.

Who the fuck cares if you babysat him? He’s a man. No longer that child who sprayed cheese in your hair or dumped salt into the bag of sugar. He’s a fucking man, cooking you dinner when you work, parenting your child, cleaning your house, maintaining your pool and fence….He does everything for you, why the fuck don’t you see it?!

Click.

Haechan’s ears perk up instantly at the sound. He sits up on the couch from his depressed slump of scrolling through his phone, quickly fixing his hair and clearing his throat. 

In you stumble, right into the little entryway table with a whisper-scream of “Shit, fuck–”

Haechan looks at your state before standing to his feet and rushing to you, helping you balance on your feet despite your footing not quite being grounded even with his help. You lean on him closely, letting out an alcohol scented sigh. 

His nostrils flare as he holds his breath, feeling your tit press against his arm, smelling the drinks, the sweat, and the dulled perfume on you. Then, a hint of something else. Musk. 

You’ve been with a man. 

He holds back a gesture at the way you lean on him. Nothing more he could want at this moment but to hold you tightly and tell you that he’s got you, despite the panic in his stomach at the way he sniffs out another man. Out of lust, love, desperation, frustration. This is the closest you’ve been to him for this long. You feel clammy and cold, a clear indication that you drank far, far too much. Your tank top is sticking to you, your eyes are a bit glassy–

“You’re late.” He says shortly.

“Late?!” You raise your voice before looking at him with drowsy eyes, furrowing your brow. “I don’t have a curfe-”

“Shh–” He shushes you, helping you get to the living room. “She’s sleeping and you’re going to have her make a fuss about waking up.”

You giggle to yourself as he drops you onto the couch, now aware that yes, you are not a single college student anymore. You’re a single woman. A fucking mother. 

You should’ve just gotten a hotel for the night and slept there to dream a little longer. 

“Right.” You laugh, slouching, spreading out wide against the couch and trying to fix your gaze on him. “Why’re you still awake?” 

Haechan fixes his eyes on you, swallowing around a lump in his throat. The way you’re slouching…seemingly forgetting that you’re wearing a skirt and basically flashing your panties at him. God, the things could do to you right now. The things he could get away with if he wanted to. He tries to shake those thoughts for now, and instead, inspects you from head to toe.

He’s never seen you look so relaxed. Chest raising and falling with each breath, hair a little messy, lipstick stains smeared on the outsides of your lip line. He chooses to ignore the faint swell against your neck indicating someone has been sucking on you. But, well, he can’t ignore it. Both his cock and heart aches at the very thought.

“You’ve been kissing?” Haechan tries to ask nonchalantly. 

“A lot more than that–” You smile, feeling a flush cross your cheeks before the disappointment hits you square in the gut. 

Haechan watches your face fall, and he mimics it by falling onto the couch and sitting by your head…you know, allowing you to lay your head on him if you want to. You’d probably not notice his arousal anyway, given your state. 

“Oh?” He asks gently, the disappointment now showing plainly on not just your face, but his own.

“Thought I was gonna go home with him, turns out he decided to be done after a blowjob in the parking lot.”

Oh, the way his blood boils. Not for the fact that you were used or rejected, but for the fact that you found someone that you were interested in and genuinely intended to leave your home life in his hands for however fucking long. Really? Just gonna leave him here all alone? Like he couldn’t do better for you?

“It’s for the better–” Haechan says as he shivers with irritation, struggling to keep his facade up. It’s definitely not what you wanted to hear, and definitely not what you’d have expected to hear from a college guy at all either.

“This happened last time too, except he didn’t even get me to the parking lot.” You huff, unaware of how much you’re sharing right now. 

He bites back the anger yet again, inhaling deeply before releasing a calming breath through his nose just to contain it. So…it has happened more than once? 

“Why don’t you let me take you out someday?” He says suddenly, well aware that you’ll probably never remember he said it in the first place. 

If anything, he’s testing the waters for his own sake. He’d hate himself forever if he didn’t at least take advantage of this moment a little bit. 

“Then who will watch my daughter?” You respond in slurred speech, not even comprehending who it is that’s asking you this question right now. Not even thinking about your history with him, or the family ties. 

He, on the other hand, is quite entertained by the way you don’t bring the history up like he expected. His cock twitches at it, bumping your head just a bit, not enough for you to notice apparently. Fuck, it would be so easy for him to pull it out right now, and just…tap your lips with it. 

Maybe you’d even open your mouth for him. 

“I’ll skip class on a Wednesday, we can go while she’s still in daycare.” He continues through an almost-moan, encouraging the conversation to stay positive.

“Donghyuck–” You slur before clearing your throat and sitting back up in a dizzy show of how drunk you are. “You know I can’t do that. It’s too weird.” 

In all fairness, you know he has like…a thing for you. After all, why else would a college dude be spending his weekends here babysitting your kid? It’s not like you haven’t noticed the way he checks you out before you go out for the night. Why would he do all of this if he didn’t have some sort of attraction to you? Sure, you’re taking advantage of it as best as you can despite how you didn’t recognize him at first. 

Despite how deep down, you very well know how attracted to him you are too. 

“Only because you make it weird.” Haechan rolls his eyes as he looks at you, spreading his legs out to adjust his comfort, noting the way you glance down to his lap and see it. “I’m a grown man–” He starts, spreading his legs wider, pressing his cock against his pants to the point you can practically see the outline.”you know this.” He continues, trying to be bold now by reaching forward and moving a strand of your hair from your cheek. 

“You’ve seen it.”

You freeze, suddenly feeling entirely too sober to be talking about this kind of thing with him. With Donghyuck. God, his mother would fucking kill you if she found out he’s in your house while you’re out trying to get fucked by whoever is willing to love you temporarily. 

Haechan sees you thinking though, and continues to take the advantage now that he’s feeling brave. Now that you’ve seen the twitch in his pants and haven’t moved off the couch, or told him to go home. 

“I saw you watching me when I was cleaning your pool, multiple times.” He whispers snidely. “You stopped when you realized who I am. Why?”

“Donghyu–…” You trail off. “You know this isn’t okay. What would people think of me? There are rules, and I will not go down this route with you.”

A rush of air hits your face and suddenly, warmth hits your cheek. You feel him so close, closer than ever before. It’s dizzying. Haechan is over you, hovering with one hand ghosting over your hip. 

“You want to though, don’t you?” He gets even closer now, darting his eyes down at your chest and unable to pull them away. “Knowing how good I am with your daughter? How well I clean up? How strong I can be–”

You swallow hard. For a moment, you almost lean into him. You almost melt right then and there, the need for intimacy so heavy inside of you after being left high and dry, knowing that you’d accept it from just about anyone at this point. But– this is Donghyuck. You can’t. 

You really, really, can’t. 

The look of disappointment in his eyes kind of hurts when you’re pushing him away. That playful smirk falling faster than you think your sanity did the day your ex husband left you. 

“This–” You pause, realizing all too well how he’s used your drunken state against you for this conversation. “This is your last paycheck.”

“I don’t think so.” The smirk is back now, except…it’s different. “You know I promised her a Barbie dream house next weekend.” He smiles fully now. “She’s a bit attached, you know, even called me dad by accident the other day.” 

You’re shocked. 

“She…what?”

“You know she’s attached to me already, don’t be selfish.” Haechan shrugs at you while rolling his eyes, leaning against the couch again and turning his head to look at you. You try to pretend that you don’t see his hand slightly groping himself. “Guess she misses having a father around. Can’t be too easy for her, especially with her mom going out every weekend trying to fuck guys who would run the second they learn about her.” He ticks his tongue now, as if he’s pitying you more than your daughter. 

“Donghyuck, that’s not–”

“That’s not, what?”

“That’s not what I’m doing…” You lower your voice to a near whisper, upset that you couldn’t even enjoy the drunken state you came home in, now feeling entirely too sober, and a little sick in the stomach. 

“Oh, so you haven’t gotten laid since I’ve been here–” He leans closer again now, trying to resume what he was going to do just moments ago. “They haven’t even touched you, have they?” His hands move to your thigh and presses down as if to hold you in place. “Why?”

“I try not to just sleep with anyone.” You lie, knowing you’d sleep with anyone just to feel wanted for once. And you’re trying to ignore his hands on you right now, trying desperately not to like it. It’s the first time a man has touched you in this house since your husband left you. As expected, you almost feel your knees buckle despite sitting comfortably. “I have to be careful, you know?”

“Mm, I know more than you think.” He leans into you, hovering yet again with his upper half over you as he whispers it. “Don’t need to be careful around me though.” He adds, this time trailing his voice right against your jaw, up to your ear. “You must be so frustrated.” He ghosts his lips there for a moment, waiting for you to push him away, or say something, anything, really. 

“Why would I be frustrated?” You lend the smallest of whispers, feeling the goosebumps against your skin rising at the mere thought of giving in just this once.

“Not having anyone to please you.” He adds now, landing a very slight kiss right under your lobe. “Always being used for someone else’s pleasure, maybe?”

You almost nod, feeling weak in your state and thoughts swimming with what if’s, morals, and anxieties. You’re frozen in place despite knowing a simple push would create the distance you need to breathe. 

“Your fingers will never be enough, will they?” He continues, essentially chaining you to this couch with his words alone. You can’t help the fight in your head, you need to feel wanted, and you want so badly to feel needed. “I bet you wish someone would love you for all that you are, not all that you have.” 

It’s silent as you feel his lips press down again, this time moving his body over you almost entirely. You can feel the couch dip a bit as he places all of his weight on a knee, moving his other leg to stand between yours.

“You must need someone to fill that hole in you by now, right? That pussy of yours?” He continues, his tone a bit more snide now as you give in to his hold with shaky breaths. 

And truthfully, Haechan has never let himself come on this strong towards someone before. Usually the wives are doing this to him. They’re trying to convince him, encourage him. He’s so fucking horny right now though, with that daze in your eye, your legs spread around his knee, blinking up at him like a cheating wife. As if you want to apologize, as if you need him to forgive you. Need him to make everything better.

“I heard you the other day, you know, talking to your mom–” He smiles, tilting his head to look into your eyes, seeing a small shine in them. “You want another, don’t you?” He continues, moving his lips now just over yours as he, now, presses you firmly against the couch. “You must hate knowing that I’m the only person who can do that for you.” 

“God, Haechan.” You immediately buckle, not realizing how suddenly he’s not Donghyuck at this moment. He’s someone else. He’s Haechan.

“Why don’t you go for girls on campus?! Don’t you have parties to be attending on the weekends instead of being here, trying to parent my chil–”

“Lower that voice of yours,” He whispers, eyes now hooded as he looks at you. “You know she’s asleep.”

God, he’s right. 

“Besides, why would I want them when I have you right here under me–” He tilts his head. “Looking so disappointed that you like it, too.” 

Right then, your moral code shines into the front of your mind at the consideration of giving in.

A weight on one shoulder chanting, “No! What would people say?! What would people think?!”, and then little to no weight on the other shoulder, echoing in a sweet song of “Finally! Someone who will love you! Finally! Someone! Finally!!! Finally!” 

You pause, not knowing at all what to do. Your body wants to push him away, even your mind and soul wants you to push him away. But you know deep down, you’d only push him away to see if he will try again. No man has ever tried for you like this, and you need more of it. 

To feel desired after so long of neglecting this side of yourself, it’s enough to make a person lose their footing in reality. To give in to just about anyone willing to look at you the way he is right now. It’s the fact that you go out to try and find it, and even with this alone, Haechan has satisfied you more than any stranger promising to make you cum.

“I…don’t know what to say–” You stutter. “I don’t know what to do.”

“I do.” Haechan smiles, glancing at your lips before meeting your eye again. “Why not hand over the reins and relax for a–” His hand dips under your skirt, cupping your sensitive cunt in one hand alone. “Ah, I knew it.” Then, his other hand finds purchase on your chest, lifting your heavy breast in his hand with a blatant, hard squeeze.

After a sharp inhale you look away from him in shame, afraid to admit it despite the truth of it leaking through your panties and onto his palm.

“Wet.” He smiles, no longer looking at you but flicking his eyes back and forth from between your legs, and to your chest. Still, he fumbles around the wet spot, wanting so badly to lift these fingers to his mouth and taste. He’s fantasized about it, about how you’d taste, how warm it would be, what your pussy would feel like against his fingers–

And just as he’s pushing your panties to the side, pads of his fingers touching right where you need them with his eyes hooded and watching you closely, something snaps.

You push his hand away, only to feel him push back, holding you down with more force, gripping your tit tighter, sliding his fingers in before massaging the slit with a blatant moan on his lips. Then, you try again, shoving him back only to hear him chuckle and continue his antics until– you jump to your feet. It felt too good, too grounding to have him touching you like this. You nearly stumble back over the coffee table, but you manage to stand tall and firm despite the fact that even though your mind feels sober, your body is fucking wasted.

“Donghyuck.” You argue immediately, using his name the same way you did when he was a child. “Stop.” 

He throws his hands up in defense, raising his brows in surprise. 

“I–” He pauses, staring at you. “I thought you were enjoying it, my mistake.” 

It’s the fact that you were. You were enjoying it too much, and there would have been no defending your actions if you had given in to the feeling. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Stupid. Stupid, stupid, fucking stupid. That’s what you are. 

Your ex husband was right all along. Out of everything you’ve accomplished since your heart was shattered, ripped to shreds, stomped on, you’d think it would take a lot more to break you. 

“You ask for too much.” Your ex husband had said once. “You can’t even stand to be alone for one day.” He had said a year or so later. Small digs on who you are and what you need sprinkled into small arguments, only to come more and more from the lips that you kissed and promised to kiss until you die. Until all of his words were to make you feel inadequate. Until everything he said to you stuck with you, forcing your confidence to bury itself six feet under. 

Are you to blame? As it stands, maybe. Why else would you be allowing yourself to consider it? Consider Donghyuck, you mean. Never in your life would you have considered him of all people to be the one that you need. 

Never in your life would you have thought he’d be interested in a woman like you, in a situation like yours, with a child. Why did that night with him stick in your head more than every single mean thing your ex husband said to you? Why did his words seem more believable? 

Because you were drunk at the time? Wet, neglected, and drunk? 

Then why is it that you’re sitting here on your day off with your beautiful, bright-eyed daughter rummaging through your purse for whatever catches her eye….and you’re thinking about him? About what he's doing right now, how he’s feeling, if he’s eaten. 

Why is it that you’ve gone the entire week ignoring his texts, asking if you need him to come resume his job as babysitter? Why the fuck do you want to accept after how he took advantage of your state of mind? After he came onto you and tried to manipulate you? 

Despite all of his words ringing true in the back of your head. That was a dirty tactic he pulled on you. Yet, still…you want him back, and god fucking dammit you could cry knowing your daughter called him “dad.” You hadn’t believed him at first, but after this week alone it slipped from her mouth several times. 

“He’s not your dad, baby, that’s just Donghyuck.” You remember correcting her more than once, and all she responded to you with was a confused expression. 

“Why not?” Is what her little voice gave back to you after her child-like brain decided it was fed up with you correcting her very right assumption of the guy who promised her the Barbie Dream House. 

Why not?

Why not?

Well, if you could have an adult conversation with a five year old it would be much easier to answer that. Because he sprayed cheese in your hair. Because you were seventeen and his babysitter when he was twelve years old. Because you ogled him without recognizing him as your pool boy. Because of a lot of things.

“Uncle Donghyuck.” You finally corrected her again. 

She shook her head, and continued doing and saying as her little mind pleased. It made you miss having a father around for her though. You think she needs it more than you do. 

And that fucking Barbie Dream house is what brings Haechan back. 

Right at your doorstep today, with a gentle knock to the door and a timid smile on his face. He doesn’t even look at you when you open the door, instead he crouches down in front of you with the big, flashy box. He ignores you, tilting himself to look past you and straight at your daughter. 

You hold your breath when she runs to Haechan, arms spread open and laughter shrieking in your ears. Your heart aches so much at this moment. 

Given your work schedule, you’d never gotten to see them interact much. He always came over as she was eating her breakfast, and you always came home after she was put to bed. You guess it’s fair that they have a bond now. She doesn’t even run at you like she does for Haechan. In fact, the only time she ever does is when she had a bad day at daycare or had a tummy ache. 

She runs to you when she needs you, but she runs to Haechan like she wants to. Like she genuinely is attached to him, and his kind smile, and his eyes, and probably that warm embrace that you’ve never let yourself experience.

You watch them, not allowing yourself to melt at the moment because you did not invite him over, nor did you give consent to bring that fucking doll house here. But you can’t say no now, as she clings to his leg when he stands up and looks at you with an almost irritated glint in his eye. 

His eyes trail all over you briefly too, as if checking for any new spots or marks that a man could have put on you. You feel seen, dipping your head to not meet his eye and scratching your neck as if to hide a spot there. There isn’t a mark, it’s just…fear? nervousness? anxiety? 

And then he hauls the box in for her without saying a word to you. You watch him hard now that his back is turned. His voice sounds so loving when he speaks to your child as if she’s an equal. Plopping down on your living room floor with her and opening the large box. 

He Ooo’s and Aahhh’s with her as he pulls each piece out, connecting the walls, the doors, handing her little things to help him with. And both of them are so focused on the task at hand to create a safe space for all of her abused barbie dolls that… you feel invisible.

For the first time ever in front of them both, you feel like you are nothing but a ghost. That he is the single parent. As if you’re forgotten, less loved, not wanted, not even needed. 

There’s a bubbling in your gut when you tear up, reminding yourself that what Haechan did that night was probably just, well, he’s a man. Men aim to fuck at all times usually, and you guess you should have expected it at one point from him because, again, you’re aware that he’s attracted to you. Even more aware now. 

But the way you feel right now outshines that. He’s ignoring you to keep your child happy. She is ignoring you because it seems Haechan does a better job at it than you do. 

And, well, he’s not holding you down, whispering things in your ear, letting out frustrated little sighs at your drunken or drowsy words now. So, you say nothing. All you can do is go to the kitchen and prepare a snack, trying to force the tears to stay inside of you with quiet sniffles, hoping you can join their little picture perfect moment so that you can be helpful too. 

Your heart swells when they both look at you as you present a plate of snacks. You have to hold back tears again at the way their eyes shine, thanking you for the snacks. Haechan’s eyes stay on you a bit longer though, as if saying “See? See what you’re making her go without?” 

You do see it. 

But…it can’t be him. As much as you wish it could be, you just can’t. There has to be another man out there just like him, one that doesn’t have a history with you that would cause whispers and questions. There has to be. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

That moment you witnessed seems to have solidified Haechan’s place in your home. Whether it be for babysitting or simply so your child can see him when she’s asking for him (which is often.) It’s kind of an issue, actually, because now the choice isn’t yours anymore and it appears Haechan knows that.

You hate that you’re forced to see him for what he is now. How he proves himself over and over again to be the man you need. The issue is that you still don’t want it to be him. The bigger issue is that he’s breaking down your walls, doing little things for you, looking at you with those dark eyes– your resolve cracks and reminds you every time he’s here that maybe it could work. Maybe you’ll give him a chance. Maybe you won’t have to go out anymore looking to fill a void that no one else fits into. 

It’s the way that now, you can’t help but to compare him to your ex husband. The man who you loved for so long, who you genuinely thought you’d spend your life with happily and safely. Now, compared to Haechan, your ex seems like…nothing. Like a little crack in your resolve. He was older than you by just two years, took care of you for so long, impregnated you, and slowly but surely throughout all that time grew to resent you too.

You still don’t know why, but perhaps it’s just because you were growing into your own. You were becoming more independent, though he never had the capability to realize just how much you depended on him during the very time he left you. 

“I just don’t want to do this anymore.” Your ex had said to you on that fateful morning. 

Your belly was big as you tried to waddle up to him when he said that. You can’t help but think back now and wonder how pathetic you must have seemed when he yanked his arm from your grip, especially due to the difficulty of your pregnancy already. You were sick through most of it, only having a few good days here or there where that pregnancy glow would make your ex husband second-guess himself. 

The slam of the door after that was more exhausting than the months of pregnancy you’d gone through. It felt loud, so loud you could hear it vibrate throughout your whole body. You recall falling to the floor and carefully holding your stomach. It’s like all of the heartbreak pooled there. The loss of your husband three weeks before he got to meet the child he was supposed to love. Her little heart must have been breaking inside of you too. 

Double the pain.

And then you were mending yourself on your own. Going into labor early from stress,  your family helped take care of you more than her. You were needier. You were broken. 

And never, fucking ever, did you think you’d find yourself sitting comfortable in your lavish home realizing that your ex-husband didn’t deserve all of that pain from you. He left you for that girl, and not two months later did she leave him. 

Never did you think you’d find yourself thinking about Haechan as a replacement either. Well, not a replacement, but like, maybe just…he’s the idea of a perfect dad if you pay attention to how your child talks about him. How they act together. How she cries for him before bed when he’s not there, asking you why you don’t read to her the way Haechan does. Why don't you sing to her the way he does? Why don't you use the same voices for her dolls? Why you don’t cut her food like he does, why you don’t do this or that.

That’s what makes it click the most you think. The fact that Haechan has given her something you never can. The love of a father. It doesn’t even feel like he’s babysitting at this point, he’s parenting, teaching her lessons, bandaging small boo-boos, fixing her hair,…cooking dinner, cleaning…existing here like he belongs.

Haechan has done more for your daughter than your ex husband ever could have, more than you could have done for her too, you think. 

Even now, as you come home night after night and see him, you struggle to see him as anyone that isn’t who your daughter needs. Maybe who you need. 

His summer semester is coming to an end too, and it’s hard to see him as a college student now. He really does coursework and everything that needs to be done at your home all within a single work day? With no complaints at all? Lately, you’ve noticed that he’s been more focused on studying when he babysits too, but still your daughter listens to him better than she listens to you. 

Yet, still, it’s like you’re avoiding each other as you go through the motions, but you notice him more. You feel more discomfort because of it, mostly because you know your resolve about this is breaking. There’s a fear inside of you that revolves around him.

What if you missed your chance? 

What if it does end up being a mistake if he still wants you?

You don’t know what to do, but you know you want him. 

Some nights, Haechan does sleep over due to exhaustion and you don’t even ask him to leave because you know he’s not doing it to try anything. The avoidance is loud. Lately, you come home from work and there he is, sitting up with his laptop on his lap but sound asleep, softly snoring. Each time, you remind yourself of how he’s sacrificing his study time to babysit. You know your child can be distracting and needy when she wants something too, but he doesn’t complain even a little bit. The least you could have done was bring him a blanket, which you did. And you woke the next morning to find him curled up on the same couch, laptop toppled over onto the floor.

Small, gentle acts of kindness towards each other but never face to face. You’ve woken to fresh coffee countless times, made exactly the way you like it because you know he’s watched you make it yourself. You’ve come home to re-stocked items, like milk and eggs, laundry detergent, and even toothpaste. It’s nice, and a small indication that he doesn’t resent you. Even through face-to-face avoidance on your part.

Tonight seemed different though, compared to all of the other nights when you can’t go out. You walked through the door to the smell of dinner and your child still awake, sing-songing at you the moment you walked in. 

“Dad said I can stay up late!” 

You quirk a brow, her calling him that now becoming a regular occurrence to the point it goes through one ear and out the other for you. You recall discussing her bed time though, with absolutely no exceptions.

“Did he now?” You hug her before taking off your cardigan, walking with her to the kitchen where you find Haechan, placing down a small plate on the table with cartoon characters on it, right in front of two bigger plates with bigger portions of delicious looking food placed neatly on it.

Your heart swells, but your anxiety grows twice as big alongside it. This. 

This is what you’ve wanted for so long. This is what you never thought you could find. So, why is it that you still have push-back in your mind? Despite knowing that Haechan has proven himself time and time again, you want to argue?! 

Perhaps it’s because you like the way he tries. Maybe you’re not ready to lose that feeling of being chased in some way, of being begged to let him stay. Maybe it’s because you begged your husband, desperate for him to keep you, but he left anyway. It feels like Haechan gives you power over yourself, over your love-life, over everything, really. 

And if you were to actually accept his advances, even just a dinner on your table, what if he stops? What if he gets bored once he gets what he wants? After all, he’s still young, you can’t truly imagine he wants to do this forever. 

Not with you, and not with your daughter either. 

“What’s all this? Isn’t it a bit late for her to have dinner?” You question him instantly, anxiety bubbling up out of assumption alone. 

“We had a small snack a few hours ago.” Haechan reassures you. “I finished my exams and had a burst of energy to celebrate, besides, it’s a Friday–” He goes to pull out a chair for you. “You don’t need to be up early either. A late dinner every now and then never hurt anybody.”

The way this is the first time the two of you have had a face-to-face conversation since…that night. His voice calms you, and that’s scary. 

You huff, happy because you could easily melt into this chair and pretend you’re having a family dinner, like you always wanted, like you never rejected a touch from him that you desperately wanted. You could just play along and pretend Haechan is everything you need. Except, it wouldn’t even be pretending at this point. The whole idea of him has changed. But, again, that anxiety. You still have that little voice holding you back, no matter what you want, or what you need, you fear it’ll be ripped from you again if you were to let yourself be weak for another person.

“I’m really tired, Donghyuck.” You explain, walking past the kitchen and towards your bedroom. “Thanks for dinner but I’m not too hungry and I just want to lay down.”

And with that, he watches you leave. No real appreciation, no congratulations on him finishing his exams, not even a kiss to your child’s forehead. Is he still expected to be the one to put her to sleep? 

Why is he even here? Why did he do all of this? 

His patience is running dry.

So, he eats with your child as your plate goes cold and he leaves it there. If you can’t even handle a dinner at the table with the person who cooked it, you can deal with your own fucking plate. Throw away your own fucking food, wash your own fucking dish. And if you can’t tuck your child into bed, he’ll do it, but you can shove that fake ass exhaustion right up your ass for all he cares. 

He knows you’re not exhausted. He’s seen you when you are. You’re just being an asshole to him at this point, trying to appear like you’re perfectly happy with the life you live when your drunken rants prove otherwise. You treat him like everything he does has an ulterior motive. Which, yeah, maybe it does, but he was genuinely excited to have someone celebrate the end of this semester with him. Maybe assuming you’d indulge him went too far. For the first time, he wasn’t doing it to impress you.

By the time Haechan gets your daughter to bed, all tucked in with a little tune to fall asleep to, he closes her door and just stands there in the silence on the other side of it. 

You must really enjoy being a single mother, huh? This is why too. He always questioned it. You’re so attractive, so well-adjusted. You work hard, your daughter is a sunshine in this world, and you’ve not managed to find anyone to love you yet? He thought he was lucky to be the one getting to spend time with you. 

Turns out, you refuse to let anyone in despite Haechan knowing, fucking seeing straight through you. You want something from someone. You need it, yearn for it, even. But it’s almost laughable at the way you refuse it. 

Excuses, excuses, excuses. 

It’s the fucking audacity you have taking advantage of him. You’ve practically led him on. You lend him everything he wants in life. That’s it. You lend it. From flaunting yourself before you go to bars, to exposing all the marks you allow other men to leave on you. Letting him stay in this house, father your child, cook, clean, mend, fix, heal. 

From being a faux-father to being minimized to a college student that you used to babysit. He’s offered you relief in so many ways including sexual, and all you fucking do is avoid, deny, fucking reject him. You still go out to bars, later and later you’ll come home with new swells against your skin, but always looking so empty and disappointed. Sometimes he thinks you try to make him jealous. Sometimes, he thinks you want him to try again. 

Sometimes, he thinks you get off on the fact that he keeps trying.

And he has tried. Albeit more gently lately, but he has. Small, lingering touches when he hands you your coat to help you get out the door and to work quicker. Starting your car for you before you leave. Fuck, he even opens the goddamn door for you. Anything to make you feel appreciated, respected, and fucking wanted.

The silence is loud in his ears due to the sheer irritation as he drops his head, staring at his feet and knowing it’ll only take a few strides to reach your bedroom. A room he still craves to be in.

He’s raided those drawers by now, because of course he has. Soiling your panties, your sheets, anything that still smells like you when you’re gone for the day, all so he can act normal upon seeing you when you come home. He’s laid in your bed by now too, wondering what it would feel like to have your weight beside him. He fantasized about anything and everything he possibly could in there.

And he’s always warmer. Always cums the hardest with weak, muffled moans as he stuffs your pillows into his mouth to keep quiet. All before cleaning every trace of himself there, closing the door, and wishing he was allowed to exist in there with you. 

Right now will be the first time Haechan enters your room to your knowledge, and it sucks for him because he has essentially trained himself to get hard every time he opens this fucking door. Still, he composes himself, and it’s a bit of a shock if you’re being honest.  You thought he’d go home after this, you were kind of hoping he would after you made it so awkward. 

You felt guilty the second you saw his expression fall to your rejection of eating dinner like a big fucking happy family. You want it so bad, you want him so bad.

When you left the kitchen, you immediately went to your room and hopped in the shower, well aware that he wouldn’t follow you. You thought hard while the hot water made attempts to wash away your feelings. Would it have been so bad to just eat with him? With your daughter? With both of them? The way his eyes fell, it burned your heart a little bit.

Still, no answers came to you because you know part of you just wants to see what else he will do for you. Despite the history with him, and despite knowing his entire family would question and scoff at you for it…Is it really so wrong? To want to give him a chance just to see if he’ll leave you too? 

Just to see if it’ll hurt when he does it too?

Inviting him to your home almost every day of the week isn’t wrong, right? Forgetting to pay him all those times before, hoping to see him again and get that confidence boost, that wasn’t wrong. Letting your daughter attach herself to him when you swore he wasn’t permanent, no longer having the energy to correct her use of “dad” towards him… none of that is wrong.

 It’s all Haechan. He’s the one in the wrong for willingly following along, not you. Right? 

And as you’re sitting on your bed in your towel, zoning out and staring at your floor, Haechan swings your bedroom door open without a single knock, mindfully closes it, and immediately goes off on you.

Somehow, you really expected him to accept your rejection but your heart swells that he didn’t. You don’t think he ever will, and you’re exhausting yourself hoping he’ll prove you wrong.

He’s shown you enough by now. This is what breaks down that wall inside of you, isn’t it?

“What am I doing wrong?” He shoots his first question out in a desperate whisper shout, eyes searing into you before continuing without a single breath. “Because I do everything for her, and i do everything  for you, does that really make you so fucking uncomfortable?”

“D–” You try to respond, feeling your skin prickle at the sheer irritation in his expression.

He’s fighting for you.

“Isn’t that what you want?!”

“After everything I do–” He throws his hands up now, running his fingers through his hair as if you make him feel like he wants to rip it out. “After trying to make your life easy while making mine harder, for what? You to not eat the fucking food I made? For you to go to the bar all the time just to come back disappointed like I’m not right here waiting for you to come back?” 

“What ar-”

“Don’t ask me any stupid fucking questions, Just answer me.” He drops his hands, stepping up to you, placing both hands on either side of your hips, doing his best not to react to your near-naked body. “Why?”

You lean back, trying to create more distance to try and give him an answer that you don’t even know yourself, but he just keeps closing in. Not letting you escape this time. You’ve never seen him so riled up before, it’s…

Well…

“Because I came onto you? Because I tried to do what no one else will do for you?” His voice shakes when he says it, and you can feel the heat radiating from him. Is he…about to cry?

Only now, seeing him so close with an entirely sober brain do you realize an answer. Maybe not to his question of why, but to the same question you’ve been asking yourself. It’s because of that look in his eye. You’ve never been able to put a word to it, but now with him demanding you explain yourself so closely, you see it.

He’s desperate. 

Arguably as desperate as you’ve felt to fill the void. Except, he’s trying to do that for you and you won’t let him out of what? Fucking fear? Hell, at this point the history means close to nothing when it comes to all the new memories he’s made in this home, even without you. The history of babysitting him, the history of your ex husband leaving you. It doesn’t matter.

You think hard, so hard that you feel your eyes burn as you stare up at him. Glancing without intention to his jaw when he clenches it, to his neck when he swallows his words, to his lips, his eyes, the hair falling in his face…and you just–

You reach up, running a soothing hand through his hair to get it out of his face. Then you see those same desperate eyes somehow grow more desperate as he lowers them, leaning into the touch, as if you’ve been starving him the same way you’ve been starved for years. He falls silent too, cutting himself off mid-question just to feel you touch him for the first time.

“I don’t know.” You say, which seems like a better answer than having an excuse. What can you say otherwise? That it’s because it shouldn’t  be him? That you’re afraid he’ll realize he’s not ready to settle? To be a dad? He’ll ask why, and it’ll be the same answer you gave on that drunken night. An answer that you no longer care about. 

You babysat him when he was a child, but you were still a child too. 

You were still a child, and time changes things.

Your ex husband left you, and you’re afraid he will too, especially because he’s so much younger? Who cares?

Your answer seems to fly right past his head though, because he’s still leaning to feel your fingers in his hair, and he’s looking at you as if nothing you say will matter unless you make it hold some weight to him. 

“Donghyuck–” You pause, scratching right at his nape, uncaring of how you can feel your towel loosening on your body. “You haven’t done anything wrong.”

Somehow, his name on your lips is what he needed to hear. The tone of it, the rasp in your voice, your fingers in his hair. Actions speak louder than anything the two of you could say right now, and he can’t help it. Nothing can stop him, not even you at this point. 

He hasn’t done anything wrong you say? It’s because he fucking knows what you need.

You inhale deeply, holding your breath when you feel your back hit your mattress, his warm hands instantly taking advantage of your freshly-showered state and tugging at the towel just slightly to let it fall open. You hear a slight breath from him at that moment, an inhale. There, he climbs onto the bed, nudging himself between your legs and trapping you there under him, both hands holding your arms down.

Like he’s afraid you’ll reject him again.

“You’re going to let me take care of you now.” He demands, though to him it sounds more like a plea solely due to the fact that he’s so fucking turned on it’s unreal. That feeling of when your fingers were in his hair? Seeing your naked body? Unshaved pussy? Being in this fucking room with you? It throws him into overdrive, especially with the way you just lay there blinking up at him in surprise. The anger melting away only amplifies it more. 

How could you do this to him? Genuinely, how could you have let him fucking suffer for you like this? 

Still, you blink up as if you’re a deer caught in headlights and it makes his heart thump against his ribcage. Your eyes are so bright, that glint of sadness he had seen so many times isn’t there right now. And there’s so much adrenaline inside of him, like he needs to move fast before you change your mind again. You’ve not let him do this for some fucking reason or another and now you’re just laying here for him.

 There, with your entire body on display, and you appear to be docile. Fucking obedient? Like he always knew you would be if you’d just drop the fucking act?! You were meant for him and him alone, and he’s going to show you why.

In all honesty, you’re tired of denying yourself by now. From the moment you saw him that day cleaning your pool for the first time, you’ve wanted him on some level. It wasn’t an emotional attachment, but a hope, a fantasy for you. And when you recognized him, you were more impressed with him than embarrassed. You tried not to let your eyes wander out of guilt, out of feeling like a pervert. 

And then, that day when he came onto you, he was just a man to you. Your faux guilt kept you from letting him, and your hope to be chased kept you from it too. As if you’ve never pleasured yourself to the thought of him, shamefully in this very bed. As if you’ve never called out his name with a silent breath. If you keep going at this point, you’ll lose him before ever knowing what he could really be for you. 

This is his last ditch effort to beat you at your own game, and you’re ready to lose.

  So, now, you let yourself get lost in him. In his eyes and the way he pleads and makes his demands. He probably doesn’t recognize his strength against you right now, or how much it’s turning you on. With the way he has both hands on your wrists, probably bruising them, and there’s nothing you could do even if you wanted to. His weight holding you down feels better than you imagined. 

After so long, with so many failed hookups where you’ve told them of your daughter and all they’ve done in return is get their orgasm then leave…Haechan. He wants to take care of you? 

He wants to…give you what you need?

Fuck, you know he can. That’s the fucked up part. He’s proved it so many times to you in so many ways. You’ve watched him, the way he moves and acts around you. He’s exactly what you need.You pushed him to this point, where his sanity is on the brink of crashing. Taking it away from him again feels wrong, because it’s exactly what you want.

And when he presses his leg between yours, he knows.

“Again?” He comments, now releasing your wrist from one hand and running it down, able to slip his fingers right into the slick of your bare pussy. “You’re wet.” 

You still just blink up at him with an intake of breath at the pleasure, thoughts running left and right on what to do, finally realizing you don’t want to do a damn thing. He’d do it all if you let him. Clean your house, be a father, fix all of the breaks, make you wet.

And you just feel him, the way his fingers play around with what he does to you. You can practically feel his confidence rise at the way you spread your legs a bit more, as if to give him more access. When you look at him, his expression remains harsh, but slowly he moves himself down, lips brushing over one of your nipples while keeping eye contact.

Still that irritated look, like he’s mad you haven’t let him do this before now.

“How many times are you going to pretend like I’m not the one who gets you wet?” He asks before rubbing circles around your clit, tongue flicking in the same way around your nipple. “Like I don’t have a right to take care of you?”

Your breath is still caught in your throat, trying to be careful about what you say right now despite knowing you can’t speak. You focus on what he’s doing instead, losing yourself to something you’ve not felt in far, far too long. 

He’s right. He’s gotten you wet more than once by now. More than he knows. 

And goddamn, he knew your tits could bounce, but the way they move without the support of a bra, the plush, soft feeling of your nipple growing erect in his mouth, all for him to bite and pull at. He does it too, listening to the little seething sound of pain from you when he pulls all the way back with your nipple between his teeth. Only to let it fall from his mouth and break eye contact with you to see the jiggle as it falls.

His cock twitches, at everything that you are right now, feeling more pleasure through seeing you like this alone compared to fucking his own fist on your bedroom floor. He notes how your legs squeeze him more at the nipple stimulation than his fingers too, memorizing the way your labia falls open between them. He smirks, flicking his tongue more, quicker. 

There. There it is.

A low rumble in your chest falls from your lips. Soft, a moan. A very small, delicate sound.

“You like this?” Haechan asks, looking up at you, letting his tongue fall from his mouth again and flicking the erect nub. “When I play with your tits?”

You nod, throwing an arm over your face in embarrassment that this is actually happening. You’re letting him. Already you feel yourself heat up more, even when he takes his fingers away from your clit and instead, uses them to flick your other nipple. 

And he does this for a few minutes. Paying special attention to your tits, going back and forth with his fingers and tongue to each bud, trying so hard to not stop just to shove his cock between them and use them the way he’s always wanted. He focuses on drawing out more and more little sounds from you instead, slurping his own saliva from your painfully erect nipples, pulling back, blowing cold air, then warming it up again with his lips. All while simultaneously groping, flicking, and pinching with his other hand. 

“Jesus, Haechan–” You moan quietly, chest rising and falling as he squeezes and licks against you. 

That’s right, say his name. Let him fucking know he’s doing what you like. Haechan thinks, feeling his cock weep in his pants as he does it. Wondering just how sensitive you are to be reacting like this to simple nipple stimulation. God, he’s wanted to suck on these for so long, and now you’re letting him. They’re so big, so plush. He wants to fucking cover them with his mouth, he wants to bury his face in them, kiss them all over them. 

And if they were to get bigger? He moans at the thought, remembering that conversation you had with your mom. You want another. He bets they’d swell up–Oh, fuck yeah. They’d probably hurt to rub against your shirt. God, fuck, he can’t control his thoughts right now.

 Finally. 

Fucking finally, he has you and he’s not going to let you run away again.

He doesn’t fucking care if it’s forward. He wants what he wants, you want what you want. That want just so happens to line up. Besides, he’s already proved himself to you, he knows it. If you’re letting him do this, maybe you’d let him stay like this. 

“Did they get bigger?” He moans briefly as he swaps to your other nipple again. “So full, so heavy, were they leaking all over you?”

You listen to him, trying not to feel the pit in your stomach bubble with even more arousal at his blatant and dirty words, feeling your clit throb at the stimulation your tits are getting right now. 

“Makes my dick fucking throb just thinking about it. Fuck–” 

“Let me give you another,” He mumbles now, almost mindlessly before looking up at you with an intense gaze as he bites down, indicating that he’s not mindless about it at all. 

“Swell you up, make you glow–”

Oh. 

Why is that– why are you dripping?

He hears that moan you let out. Different from the others, almost desperate.

“Mm, yeah.” He encourages it, now allowing his hand to travel back down to witness how much wetter you’ve gotten at those words. So messy, so perfect. “Knew you’d want it raw.”

You can’t help the nod, as it comes before you even process his words solely because you feel his fingers slip inside of you. You haven’t been this wet in so, so long. You want to feel it. To be full again, of anything. Of him.

“Ye-” You start, interrupting yourself with a bite of your lip and your eyes rolling back. 

“That’s right mama,” He coos, tilting his fingers up and amplifying the pressure inside of you. “Gonna let me take good care of this pussy, yeah?” He adds, lifting from your tits and ghosting his lips over yours. 

He watches you closely, that daze in your eye. God, you look so horny right now. There’s nothing more he wants than to see this time and time again. To let you wake up every morning with his warm cum inside of you, to see your belly swell with his child, to see your tits grow until they hurt. 

He’d take care of you. He’d take good fucking care of you. 

“Say something.” Haechan whispers against your lips, darting his tongue out against your lips, angling his fingers up and making you moan. “Say you want me to give it to you raw.”

You open your mouth, feeling his tongue lick and swallow up that moan you just gave him before you try to compose yourself. You can’t help it, you’re so, so sensitive right now and you can’t help but find it incredibly sexy to be here, laid bare, while he’s still fully clothed.

Like he really is doing this for you. He’s not trying to get his own orgasm and leave. You’re weak and those words of “let me give you another” shines in your head. Weak, you’re weak. You should be thinking about condoms, you should be thinking about the consequences of this. 

But you’re not. 

You do like it raw.

“Haechan–” You stutter as you try to grasp the reality of his words, feeling his fingers repeatedly hit right where you need it. “I’m…not protected.”

He moans. Loudly, before huffing out an irritated groan.

“You must really want it then.” He narrows his eyes at you. “Going out all the time trying to get fucked–” 

He plunges his fingers in again, deep, and holds them there as he pulls back to look at you. To really look at you, then he glares.

“You’d really let just some fucking dude give you a baby?” 

You repeatedly shake your head. 

“No!” You retort, thrusting your hips up. “I just–”

“Mhm,” He pulls his fingers out now, sliding himself down so fast that you can barely comprehend him sucking your clit into his mouth before pulling back in a moan at the taste of you. “If mama wants another, daddy will give her one.” He says now, as if to pacify you.

As if to give you everything. 

And you’d argue, really, you would.  You want another child so bad, but this is– it’s too soon. You haven’t even established a relationship with him yet. Boundaries haven’t been discussed. His college plan– but fuck it’s not entirely your fault that you’re like, super turned on by the idea of it. To the thought of being so filled with cum that there’s no possible way you couldn’t end up pregnant. An indication that, no matter what, no man at a club could fulfill the arousal for you even if they cared to do it. 

You’d never have let them actually fuck you raw. 

Haechan though…how can you keep telling him no?

How could you reject him again when you want it so badly? 

Fuck now, think later.

“Yeah–” You say against your better judgement, hands reaching down to his hair so you can grind up against his mouth, lost to the arousal as you mimic what he referred to himself as. “Daddy?”

You feel his mouth fall slack at that, as if you’re accepting him in full now. You feel your clit hit nothing in his open mouth, but it throbs harder. 

 He knew you were slightly into him for letting him do this at all, but now, you’re truly accepting it. Like you know he’ll fucking do it, like you want him to fucking do it.

“That’s right,” He moans against your clit as he licks at it, barely able to comprehend your voice calling him that but clinging to it all the same.  “Gonna let daddy do it all for you.”  

Yeah. You are. You’re gonna let him do it. All of it. 

And then, the room is enveloped in quiet moans, more from Haechan than from you due to your breath being stuck in your throat. His tongue, licking every part of your sensitive cunt, his hands reaching back up to your tits, fondling, pinching, painfully tugging at them as he moans louder, louder, louder for you to want him.

He presses his hips up and against your mattress as he tastes you, so deeply it hurts his cock to neglect it like this. Each rub feels raw, twitching and pulsing to be let out, to be inside of you, on you, against you. Filling you up with his cum, plugging it in as a promise that you can’t leave him even if you wanted to. 

He’s going to fucking do exactly what he said he would. 

And only when you feel his tongue lap against your hole do you finally release your breath, “Daddy” coming out in a choked back sob. It breaks him, his body going into overdrive as he pulls back and just– stares at you with wild eyes. 

You stare back up at him, knowing that calling him that means something more than a cringe little roleplay kink. It means something deeper to him. He wants to be a dad, a real one.

“Oh yeah?” He finally says, hands going straight to his button and zipper. 

You can’t help it, biting your lower lip as you blink up, watching his shoulders move, the veins on his arms protruding as he rushes to pull it out and– oh. You moan at it, the way his heavy, slicked up, cock falls out, dark, needy. 

“Daddy–” You urge him on, knowing that it’s driving him absolutely insane. 

“Mhm?” He shuffles himself off the bed, letting his pants drop as he lifts his shirt off of him and fucking glares at your tits. “You want daddy’s cock?”  He adds now, shooting his eyes up to you as both of his hands land on your legs.

Your mind goes blank when you feel him slide his hands around to the back of your thighs, pushing your legs forward, curling you in on yourself, forcing your pussy to be out and on display for him. 

And you watch him, the way he stares down at it. It’s embarrassing to be so seen right now, not having expected to get fucked open by anyone tonight, let alone him. You probably should have shaved or something, or like, not gotten out of the habit in the first place. But he moans at it, mouth falling open at the fact that you are entirely a fucking woman. 

A fucking mother.

The prettiest pussy he’s ever fucking seen let alone tasted.

And he moans, breaking the silence, forgetting only for a moment how long he’s been wanting this. It boosts your confidence more than you’ve ever felt. His reaction to this is more than your ex husband’s reaction to you when you were pristine and borderline pornstar quality. 

Haechan doesn’t see you as used and neglected, he just sees you. And this. This is the pussy he wants. This is what he wants to put his baby in. 

When he flicks his eyes back to you, with that same open mouthed expression, it knocks the breath out of you. There’s so much love in his eyes, or maybe lust, you don’t care. You think you’re matching that expression for him too, because it’s like he can’t hold back anymore. He can’t just sit and look at you anymore. 

He just can’t.

And you feel it, his thick head pushing past the tightened, pulsing hole and not stopping. He pushes in slowly, painfully slow, to the point you’re both looking at each other with a slack jaw. Finally. The pain of it, the pleasure, the fucking need you’ve been trying to fulfill. 

That look on your face drives him wild too, he knows he has you by now. You like it, you love the way he slides in and makes damn sure you feel it. Every second of the slide pries you open, and he wants to remember this moment forever. He wants you to fucking remember too. 

Wants you to know that no one will ever fit inside of you so perfectly, so deeply.

When he finally bottoms out, he leans forward to keep himself buried deep as he ghosts his lips over yours. He feels the way you try to kiss him, but he pulls back with a confident smirk. 

“When was the last time you’ve felt a cock so deep in you?” He whispers hotly, knowing you need not answer. Knowing you won’t answer, not with the way you’re instantly lifting your head and kissing him. 

Your pussy pulses around him when you lick into his mouth, the first real kiss sending his heart soaring. He twitches inside of you with each squeeze, and kisses you harder, deeper. And somehow, it brings tears to your eyes. 

The way he kisses, the way he makes you feel him. Fuck, the way he makes you feel whole, so wanted, like you’re amazing to him. In more ways than just a body to fuck, but he’s stuck around despite all of your avoidance and rejections. You hope you’re making it worth it. 

Fuck, you need to feel worth it to him.

“You’d better not fucking pull out.” You groan through a breath, his lips still kissing you through your words as he finally pulls his hips back, fucking in once. 

Hard.

Honestly, could you have said anything else at this moment? He’s trying to make this last, he needs it to last. If you keep fucking talking, saying everything he’s ever wanted to hear– 

“Fuck,”  He moans, his hands moving up to your cheeks as he licks into your mouth. “You can’t–”  He continues, fucking in again, moving your body up with each thrust do to the sheer force of him trying to plunge in as deep as he can. “You can’t fucking say that to me right now.”

You’re seeing stars though, unable to say anything else as your eyes roll back at the way the head of his cock practically kisses your cervix with each push into you. He’s so rough, so desperate for it. 

You don’t think he expected you to respond either, with the way he keeps his lips on yours, his body pressed so closely that having your legs to your chest means nothing to him now. Mating press be damned, he’s lost his mind to the feeling, not the aesthetic of being a fucking dad. 

Your legs wrap around him instead, and he’s all too happy to feel it. Your legs hug him the same way your arms do, the same way your pussy does, and he’s fucking in love with you. 

He braces one hand back against your leg, holding it against his hips as he continues to fuck forward, still at the same pace. Deep and with purpose. Every few seconds the bursts of pleasure run through him, making him shiver and moan into your mouth. Little grunts, near whimpers for you to let him give you the world. 

More than this. More than fucking, more than taking care of you, more than anything he could ever possibly give you. He’ll find a way. 

And then, you’re clenching hard, matching his near-whimpers except moaning in full pants, babbling and drooling cries against his mouth. 

“Mama–” Haechan soothes, continuing his pace as he tilts his head back to get a good look at that lost gaze in your eyes. “You’re crying?”

You nod with a laugh, tears rolling down the same way the wet of your cunt slips down your ass. You’ve never felt so good, so fucking full.  And for some reason, that does him in. Making it last be damned, he genuinely thinks he’s won you over. He can make it last next time, he can do more next time, he can–

He leans back all the way now, onto his knees as your legs try to hug him back to you, and his eyes go straight back to those tits. The way he made a promise. The way they bounce, slick with his sweat from pressing against you. 

“Fuck, you’re so pretty.” He grunts in a breath, now quickening his pace and snapping his hips. Pulling out all the way briefly to plunge into your again. “Can’t get any deeper–” He continues, flicking his eyes from your face, to your tits, to that beautiful pussy of yours swallowing him up. 

Now his eyes roll back, hands going back to your thighs to push you back into position. No way in hell can he last, not at a pace like this, inside of a woman like you. 

“Don’t pull out.” You repeat again in a breath, seeing his face and the way he focuses solely on you. You know he’s going to cum, and you want him to. You want to feel it, every single fucking drop of it. 

“Yeah?” He nods his head with laser-focus on your pussy now, staring down as he points tight, short thrusts inside of you. “Momma wants my cum? Hm?”

Oh, he’s fucking gone.

“She likes it?” He continues to talk himself up. “Likes being so fucking full of it? Yeah?” 

Goddamn, fuck, he’s insane. 

“Yes, daddy–” You whisper-shout, fingers shooting to your clit, other hand raising to your mouth to silence the moans as to not be too loud. 

“Fuck, yeah you do.”  He lets out a near growl, his voice low and rumbled as he slaps your hand away, pressing hard on your clit with his thumb as he buries himself in you once more and stiffening his abs. “That’s right.”

And instantly upon feeling him pulse, that first spurt of cum painting your insides, you lose yourself with him. Your fingers drop from your mouth and you release a pornographic moan for him, rutting yourself against him, as if to fuck it deeper into you. 

It only prolongs the orgasm though, for both of you. 

Haechan is silent, trying to keep his eyes open through the pleasure as you pulse and squirt around him, his thumb pressing so hard  into your clit, his cock cumming so deep, filling you up so well– He wants to see it. Wants to watch you fall apart for him. Wants to witness the way you let him do this. 

And he holds himself there, so hard and so full of pleasure for you. Keeping himself practically impaled against your cervix until your body falls slack. Still, he fucks it into you, holding you in place with a softer moan now. No longer guttural or deep from his chest. His breathing is rough, a soft, near feminine moan leaves his lips as he falls forward onto you. 

You wince along with him at the sensitivity, panting, a sweating tangle of a mess the two of you have become. And it’s the fact that it’s the first time you’ve ever gotten off at the same time as someone else. You feel…soft. 

Your hands find their way to his hair as his face squished against your tits while he regains breath, not daring to move his hips because your pussy is too warm to leave right now. You brush the sweat-slicked hair out of his eyes, running your fingers all the way back to his nap, and then slowly down his back to rub and scratch.

He shivers at the feeling, humming the same feminine-tone he had released previously. And all he can do is hear your heart thumping against your chest, even through these soft tits of a pillow he’s lying against.

Haechan never wants to move again, not from this spot, ever. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

“You know I’m in love with you, right?” Haechan mentions briefly after a long moment of silence, looking up at you with his wet hair. 

Deep in the night, your food still cold and on the table, you’ve found yourself freshly showered and on your living room couch with Haechan’s head on your lap. He made sure to have stayed long enough inside of you to implant…something if it was going to happen. So he didn’t argue a shower, and you didn’t argue letting him join you either. 

He had washed you, gently running his hands between your legs with what you can only describe as the softest, most alluring face a man has ever given you. Like he won the lottery, or found the answer to eternal life or something. You repaid him by letting him admire your tits again while you jerked him off, but that’s besides the point. 

“Like, I’m not going to leave. I hope you know that.” He adds with a soft groan to your hands still in his hair. His new favorite thing. 

You look down at him, hand moving to his cheek as the words hit you in the chest.

There’s anxiety along with happiness, at all of the boundaries and serious conversations that will need to be had now, but still, you feel like you’re glowing when he looks at you.

He didn’t even have to say it, and arguably you probably don’t need to say it back either. You think he sees it in you. Even if he didn’t, you think he’d take anything you give to him and cling to it. After all, it only took one time for you to break entirely for him. 

“Are you now?” You smile with a chuckle, looking back to the tv and pretending to watch it. “Well, that’s good. Otherwise I’d be making you go get a plan B or something.” 

His eyes narrow at you.

“Like hell I’d let you, even if I didn’t love you.” He groans. “But I do, so don’t ever say that shit again.”

You chuckle, feeling the calm in your home that once felt so chaotic. It’s quiet now, both inside and outside of your head. 

“Congratulations, by the way.”

He looks at you with question, quirking a brow.

“For finishing your finals, I mean.” You smile, going back to petting through his hair and feeling like you’re on top of the world, despite what you assume to become half of your world lying his head on top of you. 

“Oh, right.” He smiles, now turning his head to watch the tv. “I probably failed them.”

You don’t believe that, but even if he did, you think you could be what he needs too. He wouldn’t have to work if he didn’t want to.

If he’s really in love with you, all he’d have to do is…not leave. 

“Are you sure you want to be having these conversations with me? You can just call it a hook-up.” You finally say, hoping he means it, knowing it breaks your heart a bit to give him an out. “I don’t want you to feel like I’m going to trap you here just because I’m a little smitten too.” 

Haechan glares, blinking up at you.

“I literally just tried to put a baby in you.” 

That’s fair. 

“And you’re not going to run off? Get cold feet?” 

“Can you stop doubting me and just let me do what I want for once?” He argues playfully. “Do you even know how much that barbie fucking dream house costed me? I couldn’t run even if, for some stupid ass reason, wanted to. I love her too.”

Silence for a moment.

“Maybe even more than I love you.” 

You really, really, want to believe him.

So, you do. 

[smileysuh]

sandwich

🌙 staring. Jaehyun & Jungwoo x afab!Reader 

🔮 preview. He watches Jungwoo kiss you, lifting you off the ground and spinning you around, announcing to the world ‘my good luck charm ducky baby!’ and if Jaehyun didn’t love his roommate so much, he’d have barfed at the sickly sweetness of it all… Or maybe from the jealousy. But he’d never admit that to himself.

cw/ tw. threesome, exhibitionism, unprotected sex, shower sex, spit roasting, praise, inklings of hand/size kink, deep throating/choking, oral, etc... I petnames. (pretty) duck/ducky

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 11.6k

🍭 aus. frat/basketball, non idol, established relationship au, poly, etc...

☀️ mlist + an. when I tell you how much I love this pairing- check out this post i made which has links to a bunch of jaewoo tiktoks if you’re not convinced these two are the bomb dot com, and then return to enjoy frat basketball besties- they’re mvp’s I swear

Thursday

When Jaehyun arrives late to frat movie night, taking his seat next to his roommate, he can tell something is off, but he can’t quite put his finger on it. 

Jungwoo is distracted - obviously so - left knee bobbing, and a hand playing with his phone on the armrest. His eyes are on the large flatscreen above the mantle place, but he’s gnawing on his lower lip, a habit that he entertains when he’s lost in thought-

A small buzz reverberates through the couch, and in the darkness of the living room, Jungwoo’s lit phone screen draws numerous eyes, including Jaehyun’s. 

At such a close distance, Jaehyun can clearly see the notification- can see the hearts and star emojis surrounding the word ‘duck,’ which confuses the basketball player greatly- but he forces his gaze away, forces himself to not broach the topic of Jungwoo’s new love interest at frat movie night-

As Jungwoo’s roommate, basketball teammate and best friend- Jaehyun’s sure he’ll find out what’s going on soon enough.

Friday

You suppose when you’re dating a frat boy, going to his parties comes with the territory, but you’re still not prepared for the onslaught to your senses that happens as soon as you step through the front door.

You’d heard how loud the music was playing as you approached the large frat house and now, as you follow Jungwoo, wading through the sea of people, the thrum of rap surrounds you. People push at your sides - a couple making out nearly trips over your foot - and you find yourself latching onto the arm of the tall puppy boy who happily tugs you along.

There are a few familiar faces in the swath of movement- you’re pretty sure Jungwoo’s friend Haechan is standing on a table waving his shirt around- but you guess that could be any frat boy-

Mark is definitely recognizable with his teal-colored hair and snapback, leaning against a wall talking to one of the most beautiful men you’ve ever seen- his hair bleached white, and his eyes focused solely on Mark-

“There he is!” Jungwoo’s voice makes you look forward, and you immediately recognize his roommate standing near the end of the crowded hallway. 

You’ve not yet officially met the legendary Jeong Jaehyun- but Jungwoo’s definitely talked about him, and the guy’s face is all over his Instagram- 

They’re an inseparable pair, on and off the basketball court, where they’re known for being so in sync that they often make mirrored movements- 

You’d first noticed the mirroring when - during first year - you’d been working for the school’s newspaper, and the usual basketball reporter had been sick. Going in his place, you’d been exposed to the school’s team for the first time- and you’d realized you enjoyed the players more than the game itself.

Now here you are, a year later, dating one of the very men who’d caught your eye- and he’s about to introduce you to the other.

It’s clear the moment Jaehyun sees Jungwoo; his face lights up. And as Jungwoo tows you through the partygoers scattered throughout the hallway to reach his friend, you prepare yourself to make a good first impression.

“Jae!” Jungwoo exclaims, releasing your hand in favor of pulling his roommate into a hug. 

“Jungwoo!” the dimpled man echoes, a happy smile on his face when he releases his friend. “You weren’t here for pre.”

“Had to go pick this one up,” Jungwoo jokes, throwing an arm over your shoulder. “This is Duck!”

“Oh my god-” you groan, immediately feeling heat rising on your skin-

“Duck?” Jaehyun cocks his head at you, brows knitting together. “Nice name?”

“It’s a nickname,” Jungwoo says, looking down at you with a fond grin. “Met her a few days ago shooting hoops with Mark, Haechan, and Johnny- there was a bit of an airball, someone screamed Duck, and she got hit on the back of the head-”

“What?” Jaehyun’s eyes have widened, and he’s looking at you with concern-

“Right?!” Jungwoo exclaims, smiling down at you fondly. “I was worried too! Had to check to make sure she was okay- Haechan came by to insist he’d called Duck, and you said…” 

“My name isn’t Duck,” you giggle. 

“Thought it was the cutest thing ever,” Jungwoo says wistfully. “Asked her out then and there.”

“He made sure I got home safe and everything,” you explain, “but he kept calling me Duck.”

“Because you’re my little ducky- even if you can’t duck to save your life,” Jungwoo grins, pinching your cheek gently. 

“I didn’t have a concussion or anything-” you insist.

“I mean, you said yes to a date- are you sure you didn’t need to go to a doctor?” Jaehyun asks. “Or maybe an optometrist?” 

“Hey!” Jungwoo bellows loudly, grabbing at the front of Jaehyun’s shirt, but they both start to laugh pretty soon thereafter, and you see the playfulness of their relationship.

It makes your heart sing.

“No offense,” Jaehyun says once he and Jungwoo have given each other space, “but if I don’t want to call you Duck, what can I call you?”

You give the frat boy your name without a second thought- only for him to pause, tilt his head and ask, “Aren’t you the chick who wrote that one article for a game we did last year?”

“Huh?” You’re shocked he’d read it, let alone registered and remembered your name- 

“Yeah- you said a line or two about uh-” the basketball player looks upwards, trying to find his thoughts- “you said ‘one of the most interesting things about our school’s team, is the way in which the point gaurd (Jeong Jaehyun) and shooting gaurd (Kim Jungwoo) play in total unison.’ then you gave some statistic about the number of completed passes or something- that was you, right?” 

“Uh…” you look at Jungwoo, who’s taken a step away so he can assess you up and down- then your eyes meet Jaehyun’s again, only for you to downcast them- “Yeah, that was me.”

“That was you!?” Jungwoo asks in shock, jaw dropping.

“I’m sorry I-”

“Coach put a clipping of that article in our locker room with the stat highlighted-” Jaehyun tells you, “started taking his own stats after that too.”

You grimace, “Yikes.”

The frat boys laugh at you, and Jungwoo is quick to pull you to his side- “If I’d known you’d written that article, I would have liked you even more when we met,” he insists. 

“The guy who usually reports on us doesn’t have much more to say than a play by play,” Jaehyun adds. “He doesn’t watch as closely as you seem to. Are you a fan of basketball?”

“Erm- not really?” you admit- only to watch Jungwoo’s expression fall. “I mean- yes! It can be fun- but I don’t, like- I don’t watch it on tv, or anything.”

“What were you doing at a basketball court when you met this guy then?” Jaehyun asks, nudging his roommate.

“She was walking by with headphones on,” Jungwoo smiles. “Completely lost in her own world- probably wouldn’t have heard Haechan yell ‘duck’ even if she hadn’t been listening to music.” 

“I see, I see,” Jaehyun nods. He looks you up and down, gaze lingering on Jungwoo’s arm wrapped around you, then he sighs. “Well, I’m gonna go grab some beer.”

“We’re going to go upstairs.” 

The roommates exchange their statements of intent with a nod of understanding, and then Jaehyun is excusing himself with a “nice to meet you, Duck,” and Jungwoo begins to lead you to the second floor.

“What did you think of Jae?” your new boy toy lover asks when you reach his room, closing the door behind you both.

“He seemed nice.” 

It might not be the complete truth- afterall, Jae’s behavior might be more easily described as aloof than friendly or nice- 

He’d been hard for you to read, but to your credit, there’d been a lot going on in the little hallway downstairs, and - contrary to popular belief - first impressions aren’t everything. 

“You doing okay?” Jungwoo asks as he approaches you, wrapping you in his arms to pull you close to the chest that’s already beginning to feel like home.

You nod, “of course,” reaching up to run your fingers through Jungwoo’s pretty honey-coloured hair- he’s dyed it recently, and you’re still getting used to it over the dark strands you’d committed to memory when you’d first watched him play basketball. “Happy to be here with you.”

“Me too,” he grins, searching your eyes and looking over your face, gaze darting to your lips-

You’ve only ‘officially’ known the man embracing you for a short time, but already, he has you wrapped around his finger. There’s not another guy in the whole world who could convince you to come to a frat party for a good lay- 

And yet, here you are, looking up at Jungwoo like a lost little ducky-

He’d been right about that at least.

Haechan throwing a basketball at your head has been the best thing that could have ever happened to you- after all, it led you here; to Jungwoo.

You’re both leaning in now- and you can feel his breath-

“Wait- Woo?” 

He blinks down at you, letting out a “hmm?”

“You share your room with Jae- are you sure he’s not going to come up here?”

“He won’t,” Jungwoo assures you.

“How can you be so confident?”

“Because we told him we’d be up here.”

“So…”

“So,” Jungwoo laughs, “he knows what that means. Now is Ducky gonna give me a kiss? Or keep pouting these cute lips.” 

Now you’re giggling too, and a moment later your mouths are pressed together; roommate forgotten. 

Saturday

In the wake of an insane win against a rival university, Jaehyun is more than excited to hit the campus bar to celebrate with his team. It’s tradition- and it allows the group to mingle with other students while drinking off the buzz of their win. 

As he leaves the locker room, Jaehyun bumps into a congregation of his frat brothers, and he slots himself next to the tallest dude there, looking around for his roommate.

“Where’s Jungwoo?” Jaehyun questions, gaze shifting back the way he’d come-

He’s pretty sure Jungwoo’s out of the locker room already- he hadn’t been inside changing-

Oddly enough, it’s Mark Lee who has the answer, cocking his head slightly with confusion while stating, “He already left with Duck.” There’s a beat of silence where Jaehyun digests what’s been said, then Mark asks, “Didn’t he tell you?”

He hadn’t.

Just as Jungwoo had taken his sweet time to tell Jaehyun he’d even met you in the first place. 

“He must have mentioned it,” the point guard says, giving his head a little shake-

“Must have,” Johnny echoes, and Jaehyun can feel the elder’s eyes burning into him. “Looks like we’re all here, let’s head out.” 

The group exits the gymnasium, heading off towards the bar, and Jaehyun finds himself trailing at the back, walking in step with a frat brother named Doyoung. 

They’re both silent, and the silence feels like an ache, because walks to the bar are never silent for Jae- who usually has his best friend hanging onto his shoulder and bellowing recounts of the game-

“You guys played well,” Doyoung notes politely.

Jaehyun wants to tell him to fuck off.

Monday

Jungwoo is so enamored with you- so completely content just watching you read your textbook, that he forgets to watch the time. 

When the door to his room suddenly opens, you both jump like scardy cats, and Jaehyun freezes too, looking between you and Jungwoo.

“Oh,” the point guard in the entryway says. Then he turns and leaves, shutting the door behind himself without another word.

“I-” you begin, at the same time Jungwoo goes to explain “he-”

You both pause, allowing the other to speak, and after another awkward exchange, Jungwoo finds himself reassuring you that “Jae is like this sometimes- he gets weird around people-”

“I can go if he needs to be in your room,” you offer, eyes full of sincerity.

Your words make Jungwoo laugh, shaking his head and resting a hand on your thigh. “No, you should stay-” he insists, “besides, there are worse things he could have walked in on.”

“I guess you’re right about that.”

With a wink and a quick chaste kiss, Jungwoo gets to his feet. “I’m going to go talk to him though, is that okay?”

“Uh huh, I’ll, uh-” he watches you swallow, “I’ll be here, I guess.”

“Don’t wander off,” Jungwoo teases, already practically bouncing to the door. 

He knows exactly where to find his roommate, and heads to the kitchen, taking the stairwell two steps at a time. 

Jaehyun is predictably where Jungwoo expected him to be, rifling through the fridge, and Jungwoo takes it upon himself to scare his friend, grinning wildly before poking the frat boy in the ribs and yelling “Boo!”

The two men are wrestling within seconds, with Jungwoo continuing to giggle while Jaehyun flips the dynamic, tickling Jungwoo’s sides while asking “you think this is funny!? You think it’s funny to sneak up on people!?”

“Says you,” Jungwoo laughs, rolling on the kitchen floor while meekly fending off his roommate’s hands- he truly doesn’t mind being tickled as much as some people do, “You’re the one who just barged into our room-”

“That’s not sneaking,” Jaehyun insists, pinning Jungwoo by the wrists- “It was an accident.” He pulls away a moment later, standing and running a hand through his hair. “You could have texted me that you had Duck over.”

“I forgot,” Jungwoo smiles, sitting up and ignoring the pain in his abdominal muscles from laughing so hard. “Besides, we weren’t doing anything.”

Jaehyun’s eyes asses Jungwoo, and the tall blonde continues sitting on the floor, giving his roommate space to say whatever retort he finds fit.

Then Jaehyun simply sighs. “Yeah, but if you had been-”

“Then I would have locked the door,” Jungwoo says with a roll of his eyes. “Who do you think I am? Haechan?”

In another room, someone yells “hey!” and Jungwoo screams “Haechan locks his doors 2022!” before returning his attention to Jaehyun. “Do you want to come join us?” he asks nonchalantly. 

“What?” Jaehyun visibly tenses, and it only takes Jungwoo a second to realize why.

“Not for that, silly-” he reaches out to push Jae’s leg. “I think we’re gonna watch some movies, she might stay over, if that’s okay with you.”

“Yeah, she can stay over-” the response is quick, “But uh- I think I’m going to go shoot some hoops or something.”

Jungwoo cocks his head, brows furrowing. “You don’t usually shoot hoops on Mondays.” 

“Right, cuz you know my schedule by heart,” Jaehyun scoffs.

“I do,” the younger man insists, beginning to list off his friend’s daily activities.

When he gets to “mid-day jack-off sesh-” Jaehyun tells him “that’s enough, I’m leaving” and Jungwoo watches him go with a grin. 

Pushing Jaehyun’s buttons is so easy- not that Jungwoo does it often, he just wishes his roommate would be honest about things. Even if he is going to shoot hoops- it definitely hadn’t been in his schedule, and Jungwoo knows it. 

He knows the point guard probably just doesn’t want to be a third wheel.

Jungwoo only wishes his friend could see that, even with you around, their friendship needn’t change. 

Tuesday

When Jaehyun wakes up, it takes a moment or two for him to remember the events of the night before, and when he does, he’s quick to roll onto his side, eyes seeking out the bed where you and Jungwoo are bundled up like love bugs.

After returning from shooting hoops, Jaehyun had reluctantly joined you and Jungwoo for a few episodes of a Netflix food show. 

Sat next to his best friend, it had almost felt normal to be watching ‘Somebody Feed Phil,’ but every time you’d laughed, it had been a reminder that things were different.

This is the first time you’ve slept over in his room, and Jaehyun finds himself thinking about you and Jungwoo’s relationship - something he’d not been intending to consider - within the first moments of wakefulness. 

It had been nice to have you around, and Jaehyun knows that if he’s not careful- he could create waves in the budding romance the two of you have.

He wants Jungwoo to be happy, he really does- but there’s a jealousy biting at Jaehyun’s heart, and it prompts him to get out of bed quietly, intent on a shower to wash away the nasty feelings. 

There are a few frat boys awake, and when Jaehyun reaches the large communal bathroom, he finds Haechan and Mark getting ready for their classes. 

They talk about a variety of topics while Jaehyun washes his hair, from a group project to girls they’re interested in, and when Jaehyun goes to dry off, he gets to listen to them fight about whether or not they need to shave.

“I have stubble, dude-” Mark is insisting, rubbing at his jaw while Haechan scoffs loudly.

“Stubble my ass, Mark Lee,” Haechan says. “Who’s it gonna bother anyways? It’s not like you’re getting any.”

“I am!” 

“You are?” Jaehyun asks, wrapping a towel around his waist.

“I-” Mark’s ears have turned red.

Jaehyun can’t believe that all around him, his friends are getting cuffed for the season. 

He can’t believe that they so easily jump into relationships or hookups-

As much as Jaehyun might have a reputation for being one of the sexiest dudes in the entire frat village - he is Mister Valentine after all - he’s a lot more relaxed than people give him credit for. 

Or at least… he thinks of himself that way. 

He’s never been the type to think he needs a girlfriend- but then again, he’s never really had a true girlfriend, not one who really knew and accepted him.

He wonders if it’s even possible for him at this point, and seeing best friends like Mark and Jungwoo dabble in love brings up this voice in Jaehyun’s head that tells him ‘You’ll never find the one.’ 

Mark and Haechan leave the bathroom, and Jaehyun tugs his clothes on before following them. 

Two doors down from his own, Jaehyun begins to hear sounds, and his heart sinks in his chest, because if anyone can identify Jungwoo by his moans- it’s his roommate. 

Stopping in front of his room, Jaehyun sighs, looking down at the doorknob.

“It’s locked, I tried,” comes Haechan’s voice, as he comes out of the room next door, backpack slung casually over his shoulder. “I wanted to open it and scream ‘Jungwoo locks his doors 2022,’ but… that would have just been facts.”

“Did you need something from your room?” Mark asks, following his friend towards Jaehyun and the stairwell. 

“Yeah, all my school shit,” Jaehyun sighs again.

“Sucks to be you,” Haechan taunts.

It really does.

Thursday

While Jaehyun has been acting a little strange- and to be fair, Jungwoo had apologized profusely about locking him out of the room to fuck you two days before- it’s a complete shock when the point guard doesn’t show up to movie night. 

Jungwoo had fucked up- Jaehyun had been forced to wait for his laptop, and had missed his first class, but… Jungwoo hadn’t realized Jaehyun even liked his first morning class on Tuesdays so…

He can’t put his finger on what’s upsetting his friend, and it’s been driving him up the wall. 

Every time he’s asked, “are you mad at me?” or “are you jealous of me spending my time with Duck?” he’s been assured by Jaehyun that things are fine-

Too bad he knows Jaehyun’s a liar. 

Jungwoo had thought that, if there was one certainty in their friendship outside of basketball, it was movie night. Even last week, when Jungwoo would have much rather been with you, he’d come to watch a film and be with his best friend-

This is the first time he or Jaehyun have missed a movie night in over a year, and Jungwoo can’t help the way he sends his roommate a few texts- 

He’ll admit, he’s probably annoying the dude with a double, triple- quadruple text, but he can’t help himself. 

And when his text goes unanswered for the twenty minutes leading up to the film, solidifying Jaehyun’s absence, Jungwoo decides to text someone he can count on. 

You assure him that Jaehyun’s probably fine- you even walk Jungwoo through a number of reasons why his roommate might choose to skip a movie, and when you’ve calmed him down, Jungwoo invites you to come join him and his frat friends for a film.

After all, how can he be expected to get through a whole movie without cuddles? 

Friday

There aren’t many games that conflict with frat parties, but tonight is one of those nights, and the stands are noticeably thinned out. While the frat generally comes to support the members on the team, when given the difficult decision between watching basketball and partying, many choose the latter. 

But not you. 

As soon as the team exits their changing room, a chorus of female screams erupt from the section that usually houses the frat, and Jaehyun finds you sitting there with a number of your friends, sporting their team colors.

Not only had you shown up, but you’d brought cheerleaders, and the thought makes Jaehyun’s whole body tingle with warmth.

Jungwoo claps a hand on Jaehyun’s back, flashing him a fond smile that says ‘Those are our fans’ and Jaehyun is more intent than ever to play the best game of his life.

The team kicks ass, with Jaehyun and Jungwoo working in sync in a way they haven’t for a few weeks, and when the final buzzer goes and the crowd erupts to celebrate their win, Jaehyun’s reminded that you’re there for Jungwoo, not for him.

He watches Jungwoo kiss you, lifting you off the ground and spinning you around, announcing to the world ‘my good luck charm ducky baby!’ and if Jaehyun didn’t love his roommate so much, he’d have barfed at the sickly sweetness of it all… Or maybe from the jealousy.

But he’d never admit that to himself.

Sunday

“Swish!” Jungwoo yells loudly as Jaehyun makes a shot from the three-point line. The joy that fills him to see his friend doing well isn’t something he could ever fake, and when he takes the basketball to do a layup, Jaehyun releases his own sound of praise.

Jungwoo swears he could play ball with Jaehyun for a whole day and not get bored, although, distraction is another story. 

You’ve been on his mind constantly, and Jungwoo hadn’t been able to help himself this morning. He’d told you the gymnasium he and Jaehyun would be at, and even now, he waits anxiously for your arrival.

You’d promised to come by for a short visit, and Jungwoo is as happy as ever to facilitate more bonding time between you and his roommate. The two of you will have to be comfortable with each other for Jungwoo’s life to continue to work smoothly- and there’s a sneaking suspicion growing in his heart that tells him Jae’s becoming jealous.

Sure, he’d joined you and Jungwoo for food documentaries, but this will be bonding on Jaehyun’s own turf- or court, if you will.

Jae’s never as relaxed as he is on a basketball court, and Jungwoo’s excited for you to experience this- to experience point guard Jaehyun without the added pressure of a game to win.

What Jungwoo isn’t expecting, as you enter the gym, is to be so distracted that as he calls “Duck!” he himself gets hit in the head with a ball thrown by Jaehyun. 

Having never been on the receiving end of a headshot- having never been distracted in this way- Jungwoo allows himself to fall to the ground in shock.

“Dude!” Jaehyun exclaims, and before Jungwoo knows it, two people are looking down at him with concern.

The tall shooting guard can’t help the smile that works its way onto his lips. 

“My people,” Jungwoo says wistfully, blinking up at you with a dopey expression.

“You gotta pay attention,” Jaehyun admonishes him, offering a hand to pull his friend back onto his feet. 

“My attention was on duck- and less on ducking,” Jungwoo grins, rubbing at his cheek before turning his gaze fully to you. “You came!”

He picks you up in a hug that spins you off the ground, and you giggle while holding onto his strong shoulders. 

“Of course I came!” you smile when he sets you down, “but I can only stay for a little while.”

“Really?” Jungwoo pouts, still not releasing you from his grip. “Are you sure you can’t come back to the frat and watch movies?”

“I’ve got a project to work on and I’m meeting friends, remember?” 

“Yeah.” The tall puppy boy had been praying your plans would fall through, but he supposes he has to let you give your attention to your friends and studies sometimes. Jungwoo turns his gaze to his roommate. “You don’t mind that she’s stopping by for a bit, right?”

He knows there’s nothing Jaehyun can do about it now, and Jaehyun puts on a good face for you. It’s the most welcoming Jungwoo has seen his friend be to you- and it fills his heart with warmth while the three of you get settled on the court.

“Have you played around the world before?” Jaehyun asks, surprising Jungwoo in his initiative for choosing a non-combative game- or at least, a less intimidating choice than two on one. “It’s basically uh- taking turns making shots from different locations on the court.”

“You guys are gonna beat me so bad,” you laugh, but you accept the challenge all the same.

Talking you through how to make a shot is something that Jungwoo’s been dreaming about, and he enjoys standing behind you, hands settled on your waist to help be your guide. 

“It’s all in the wrist too,” Jaehyun adds helpfully, another steady instructor for your attempts at making a hoop. 

It’s no shock that Jaehyun and Jungwoo beat you at the game- no shock that the real competition is between them, but what is surprising, is the way that - in having you there - both men are less competitive against each other. 

Jungwoo can tell Jaehyun is holding back, even just a little, allowing Jungwoo to be the star, to be the one that dazzles you. 

Before Jungwoo even knows it, he’s won the game and you’re announcing that you have to head out to see your friends and work on your project. 

The man who’s fallen for you over an insanely short period of time pulls you into a kiss that says ‘I never want to let you go.’

Watching you leave is hard, but Jungwoo manages, and after fifteen more minutes of one on one against Jae, the two basketball players hit the locker room. 

“Thanks for letting me win in Around The World,” Jungwoo says, stripping his shirt from his body.

“Yeah,” Jaehyun kicks off his gym shoes, “your girl was there.”

“You don’t have to be nice just because Duck was around.”

“Yes, I do.”

“No, you can be yourself,” Jungwoo insists, leaning his shoulder against the locker to focus on his friend. “You get weird when Duck is around- and you missed frat movie night-”

“Being a third wheel can be rough,” Jaehyun states, refusing to meet Jungwoo’s eyes while he fishes his towel from his bag. “Makes me think I need my own girlfriend to even things out.”

“I don’t like any of the girls you date.” Jungwoo’s nose scrunches up in something like disgust as he goes through Jaehyun’s exes in his mind. 

“We can’t all find a perfect girlfriend by throwing a basketball at her head you know.”

“I wasn’t even the one who threw it at her,” Jungwoo reminds his friend. “I was the one that was there to make sure she got up- that’s like… social skills, not basketball skills, which explains why you can’t get a good date.”

Jaehyun scoffs.

“I’m serious,” Jungwoo laughs, “you’re horrible at validating people, you have the emotional IQ of a porn-addicted teenager, you get way too tense anytime a good girl is around-”

“Watch it,” Jaehyun warns, but there’s no attempt to counter any of Jungwoo’s observations. 

“You get weird as soon as a girl is around,” Jungwoo continues anyways, following his best friend towards the showers. “If you’d just be yourself- if you’d just… be like you are when it’s just us-”

“Then I’d get a girlfriend?” Jaehyun finishes with a laugh.

“Or maybe just some friends who happen to be girls. Those are nice too, Jae,” Jungwoo sighs. “Seriously, come hang out with me and Duck and work on your social skills, you’ll enjoy it once you get the stick out of your ass.”

“Since when am I the one of us with a stick up his ass?” Jaehyun retorts with a cheeky grin as he reaches to turn on his shower.

“See!? This is the kind of Jae people like,” Jungwoo grins, pushing at his friend. “The guy who makes bad jokes.”

“Wasn’t a joke- was a valid question,” Jaehyun joins in the laughter, slapping Jungwoo’s hand away from his shoulder.

“Come to movie night with me and Duck tomorrow,” Jungwoo insists, unwilling to relent on the subject until Jaehyun agrees.

“If I say yes, will you drop it and let me shower in peace?”

“Yes.”

“Fine,” Jaehyun sighs, “I’ll do movie night with you and Duck tomorrow.” 

Monday

Jaehyun’s not sure what to expect for movie night. 

He arrives back to the frat from classes before Jungwoo, and spends an hour or so just sitting in his room and going over possibilities. 

The point guard is not expecting you and Jungwoo to arrive holding two boxes of pizza and a bag full of his favorite snacks.

Because of the shock of it all, Jaehyun’s reaction to it is less than impressive for Jungwoo, who tries to facilitate joy by dumping the bag of snacks onto his bed to announce “this is your favorite chips, and this is a box of those chocolates you like-” 

Jaehyun finds it comical that Jungwoo feels the need to remind him of his own tastes, and when Jungwoo is done with his rant, Jaehyun takes a breath and thanks him properly. 

“It was Duck’s idea,” Jungwoo says, another shock to Jaehyun’s system. 

“I know Jungwoo talked you into movie night,” you explain bashfully, “so I wanted to make sure you at least had some food you like-”

“Hence, pizza!”

The cardboard box is flipped open excitedly, and the smell of pepperoni and greasy cheese perfumes the small room. 

“We should watch our food show,” Jaehyun states, eying the pizza while his mouth begins to practically water.

“Somebody Feed Phil it is,” Jungwoo responds happily, glossing over the fact that Jaehyun had referred to it as ‘our show.’ 

But the diction isn’t lost on Jaehyun, who’s assessing his own words- the line that had slipped out of him and betrayed his blossoming sense of ownership over the show that makes all three of you laugh together. 

He brushes it off.

Soon, you’re all seated on Jungwoo’s bed, with him in the middle and his computer on his lap. 

It’s becoming easier and easier to get lost in the enjoyment of it, and one slice of pizza becomes two, becomes three- 

Jaehyun can feel his muscles relaxing, can feel his body getting heavier and happier with each passing moment.

When Phil does something to make you giggle, Jaehyun finds himself laughing along with you- not because he’d found the interaction particularly funny per se- but because sharing joy with you and Jungwoo just feels right. 

While Jaehyun’s aware that you’ve hit ‘next episode’ a number of times, it’s not until you begin to yawn that he checks the time, and all three of you are surprised to find it’s nearly midnight.

“Did we really just watch a whole season of this?” Jungwoo asks, rubbing at his eyes with the heel of his hands before stretching his arms above his head and yawning loudly.

“We’re gonna have to find a new show if we keep this up,” you muse from where you’re tucked against your boyfriend’s side.

On Jungwoo’s left, Jaehyun meets your eyes, and the two of you only hold the contact for a few seconds before looking elsewhere. Jaehyun sits up, doing a stretch of his own. “There are lots of shows to choose from,” he says, attempting to sound non chalant.

He can’t betray the excitement he feels to know you’re considering another show to watch- a sign that you see this continuing-

He could really get used to this. 

There’d been a time when Jaehyun had worried about mooching off of Jungwoo’s romance, a time when he thought you and Jungwoo would prefer to be alone together, but with each interaction, he finds himself getting more comfortable being your third.

He’d hate to be a third wheel to a bike- but it’s starting to look like you and Jungwoo might be tricycle people. 

The thought surprises Jaehyun, and as the three of you get settled in separate beds, the point guard takes it upon himself to listen to your breathing- making sure he’s the last of you to drift off into dreamland.

Tuesday

You wake up in a bed that’s starting to feel familiar, and the cock poking at your bum is definitely something you’re becoming accustomed to-

It makes you smile happily to yourself, but when you open your eyes, you’re sure to check on Jaehyun, who’s still fast asleep, before turning in Jungwoo’s arms to face him. 

The large, beautiful man who you’ve fallen in love with is as gorgeous as ever- even while dreaming, and he makes small sounds, betraying the dirty content of his subconscious. 

You start by slowly brushing your fingers past his cheek, and when that doesn’t wake him, you shuffle closer, leaning forward to ghost your lips by his neck-

Jungwoo practically jolts awake when you touch his sweet spot, and he releases a small groan, immediately wrapping you in his arms to pull you tightly to his chest.

“Woo,” you whisper, kissing the underside of his jaw.

“Ducky,” he moans, tangling his legs with your own-

It would be so easy to reach between your bodies, slip your hand under the waistband of his joggers, and grab his cock-

But with each sound of pleasure released by your gentle giant, you worry about waking Jae.

“Come shower with me,” you whisper instead, running your fingers through Jungwoo’s hair and massaging his scalp, something he adores you doing-

He releases a grunt, and then sighs, swallowing thickly; “Shower.”

Pulling away from Jungwoo makes him whiney, but he allows you to drag him to his feet, checking on Jaehyun one last time before grabbing towels and exiting the room.

In the hallway, you’re able to talk more without fear of waking Jungwoo’s roommate, and he immediately asks you, “what time is it?”

“Early,” you respond. “But I have class today, and I have to run home to grab things, so I thought we could have a shower now and I can see you tomorrow or something.”

“Yes, shower now,” Jungwoo agrees, rubbing at his eyes and following you to the communal bathroom. 

You’re thankful that it’s early enough for the showers to be deserted, and the two of you tuck yourselves away in a stall, closing the curtain before helping each other strip.

It’s a giggled mess of hands - you tugging on Jungwoo’s pants while he wrestles with your shirt - but soon enough you’re both naked, lip-locked, and under the spray of warm water.

You’re eager to have him inside of you, eager to fuck this basketball god before any of his friends wake up and barge into the bathroom, and your lover is just as eager to get at you.

Jungwoo lifts you up, forcing your legs around his waist while he sits you onto his cock, filling you perfectly while his mouth muffles your moans.

Even after fucking like rabbits since you’ve met, you’re still not used to the size of his dick, and each drag against your inner walls has you clawing at his shoulders and kissing him like a woman who’s gone mad with need.

“Fuck, Duck,” he groans, fingers digging into your ass cheeks to hold you up while he fucks into you, “feels so good-”

Your only response is a whimpered “please-” and it prompts the sleepy man to fully snap out of his grogginess, releasing a growl of pleasure before fucking you harder-

In the back of your brain, there’s a constant siren going off, a siren that tells you anyone could walk into the communal bathroom- anyone could pull the shower curtain aside-

The added fear that comes with exhibitionism has your stomach twisting into pleasure knots before your brain can keep up with it, and your pussy clenches around the intrusion thrusting in and out of your core-

“Jungwoo-” you whine his name as you burry your face in his neck, teetering on the edge of orgasmic bliss-

“Fuck, please cum for me, come on Duck, cum-” 

Your toes curl, your legs wrapping tightly around Jungwoo’s body, and the chord in the pit of your stomach snaps, allowing a release of euphoria that has you clinging to Jungwoo like a lifeline-

Jungwoo moans loudly in your ear, one of the prettiest sounds you’ve ever heard, and you can feel him filling you with his cum, his hips shuddering with each slap of skin on skin-

“Fuck, fuck, fuck-” he whimpers, squeezing you in his embrace, his lips eagerly seeking out your own. 

As you both come down from your highs, Jungwoo’s thrusts come to a stop, and he simply holds you under the water spray while you catch your breaths.

When your thoughts come back as cohesive sentences, you ask him to set you down, and he helps you steady yourself on wobbly legs. 

“Thanks for coming over last night- and thanks for cumming today,” Jungwoo whispers breathlessly- a joke that causes you both to erupt in a fit of giggles.

The shooting guard holds you close to his chest, pressing a kiss to your forehead as you shrug the whole thing off with a “don’t mention it.”

“I think Jae really liked having you over too,” he continues anyways, unrelenting once he goes down a thought spiral. “Haven’t seen him laugh like that in a while.”

“Phil is a funny guy,” you nod.

Jungwoo chuckles. “Wasn’t always Phil making Jae laugh,” he tells you. “I sort of think Jae likes you.”

“That’s good isn’t it?” you ask. “It’s important for your friends to like me.”

“Yeah but I mean-” Jungwoo swallows, looking down at you with a lopsided grin, “I think he sort of like likes you.” 

You find yourself laughing at his choice of words, poking at his stomach while musing, “are we in kindergarten?”

Jungwoo wraps his arms around you even tighter. “Seriously- just think about it with me for a second,” he urges you. “I feel like… as much as none of us admit it, lots of us frat guys- we rely on each other for emotional stuff you know? So when I met you, and started prioritizing us, it’s kind of like I cheated on Jae, in some weird way.”

You consider his words, looking up at him and watching the way his pretty lips move when he speaks. 

“Jae and I weren’t always super close,” he continues. “We worked on our friendship, and it took a lot for him to open up and be weird with me- having Jae close himself off when you and I met was kind of hard, you know?”

“Sounds like maybe you have a bit of a crush on Jae, Woo,” you tease, curious for his reaction.

Jungwoo simply chuckles, pressing a kiss to your lips before saying, “Maybe I do. How do you feel about that?”

“I feel like…” you choose your words carefully, “what you said about the emotional connection of frat boy roommates and basketball teammates makes a lot of sense. I also feel like… I’ve really enjoyed our time together, and I guess I’m open to watching you grow and be happy.”

“I’m happy with you,” he states, kissing the tip of your nose lovingly.

“I’m happy with you too,” you respond with a smile.

“This is a lot to think about,” Jungwoo sighs, reaching behind you to turn the shower off, “and you have class soon, so maybe we should just think about this later.”

“Later works,” you agree.

“There’s a game on Thursday,” the tall basketball player notes, grabbing your towels so you can dry off, “when we win, we can celebrate and figure stuff out.”

You laugh, wrapping your towel around your body. “I love how confident you are that you’re going to win.”

Jungwoo scoffs. “With our cute little, observant, Ducky good luck charm, how could Jae and I lose?” 

Thursday

Jaehyun can tell something is different with you and Jungwoo, and the way the two of you react when the team wins their basketball game is confirmation that something has changed. After you kiss Jungwoo to celebrate, Jaehyun finds himself being pulled into a three-way embrace, with Jungwoo as the main instigator.

Then, on the walk to the bar after the team had showered and changed into street clothes, oddly enough it’s you who walks between the two basketball players; Jungwoo no longer the center.

It’s as easy as ever to discuss the game in your little trio, all three of you talking excitedly about the three-pointers they’d shot, and the completed layups- 

“I think it was your best game of the season,” you muse, offering Jaehyun a happy smile before you beam at your boyfriend, who throws an arm over your shoulders and tugs you close to his side.

“What did I tell ya?” Jungwoo grins. “The good luck, Duck charm strikes again.”

There’s some truth to the shooting guard’s words- Jaehyun would be lying if he said knowing you’re in the crowd doesn’t make him play better- play harder- play to impress- 

Your group reaches the bar, and Jaehyun finds himself ordering drinks for the three of you, shoulder to shoulder with Johnny, who lists off beverages for their other friends.

“You played well,” the tall man from Chicago says, clapping Jaehyun on the back. 

“Our good luck charm was there,” Jaehyun says before he can help himself.

“Who?” at first Johnny is confused, his eyes shifting past Jaehyun’s shoulder- “oh, right- that’s what Woo’s calling his girlfriend these days. You can’t give any credit to Duck though, you guys just played well.”

For some reason, the comment makes the point guard’s skin tingle with heat- with anger, and his fist clenches at his side. “Were you at our last game?”

“Uh, no? There was the frat party-”

“I know,” Jaehyun cuts Johnny off. “You weren’t there, Duck was. And she brought a bunch of friends to cheer us on, knowing our usual frat section would be nearly empty. Even coach mentioned how it was a boost of morale versus other home games where our friends choose partying over basketball.” 

Johnny is quiet in the noise of the bar, dark eyes assessing Jaehyun. “You really like Duck, huh?”

Jaehyun groans, but even as he turns his attention to the three drinks recently placed in front of him, it’s clear as day that he prefers you and Jungwoo to all his other friends in the bar. 

Without another word, Jaehyun picks up the beverages, leaving Johnny in favor of joining you and Jungwoo at the frat table where Haechan and Doyoung are having a lively debate-

Claiming the free space next to you, Jaehyun once again sandwiches you between him and Jungwoo, placing your drinks on the table.

“What are those?” Haechan asks, stopping his rant to blink at the cups of beer.

“Our drinks?” Jaehyun offers.

Haechan rolls his eyes. “But where are ours?” 

“Johnny’s still getting them,” Jaehyun sighs, already tiring of Haechan’s antics.

“What in the preferential treatment-” 

“You can have mine,” you offer, shocking all the men watching as you push your beer forward, “I can share with Woo-”

Three hands go to grab the beer, with Jungwoo and Jaehyun trying to take the drink back while Haechan attempts to lift it to his lips-

“You can’t drink her beer-” Jaehyun states while Jungwoo simply hits Haechan with an “aish, you idiot-”

“She gave it to me!” Haechan insists, getting rougher with his tugging-

“Stop it, you gremlin,” Johnny’s smooth powerful voice cuts up the tension as he arrives carrying a tray for the rest of the friends. “Leave these three alone,” he instructs, holding out a beer to Haechan, “here’s your drink.”

Haechan makes a big deal of scoffing and letting go of your glass, and he watches the three of you over the rim of his drink while he takes a massive gulp. “Preferential treatment,” he seethes under his breath.

Jaehyun sighs. 

It would appear that he’s not the only one with some jealousy problems.

Only, Jaehyun’s jealousy has definitely gone down in the past few days- now he feels more… protective of the little trio you have going.

There’s never been a time where Jaehyun’s been at the bar wishing he was at home in his room instead, except- tonight, he’d much rather be watching a show with you and Jungwoo.

His win on the basketball court is practically forgotten- there’s no need to celebrate it- and if there is, the celebration would be much better with just the three of you and some takeout-

“Thank you for the beer,” you tell Jaehyun when Haechan’s calmed down a little, nudging your shoulder against his own and offering a smile that has the point guard’s heart lurching in his chest.

He has to clear his throat to tell you “don’t mention it,” and while he tries to be nonchalant, he can feel his ears heating from the small thank you.

“What are you guys saying?” Jungwoo leans closer, throwing his arm around you to huddle you tighter to Jae’s side. 

“I just thanked him for the beer,” you explain.

“It’s too loud in here,” Jungwoo groans. “Wanna finish our drinks and head back to the frat?”

It’s a shock how in tune Jaehyun and Jungwoo are at times- and Jaehyun is flabbergasted that they’d both have the same urge to escape the very environment they so often thrive in after a game.

“Sounds good to me,” you respond, and then the two of you are looking at the point guard.

“You coming too, Jae?” Jungwoo asks.

He nods and then downs his drink.

Thursday

You’re not sure what to expect as you follow Jaehyun and Jungwoo into their frat house. 

You know it’s going to be mostly deserted, as almost all of NCT house goes to the bar to celebrate after a basketball win, and the implications of that aren’t lost on you.

What Jungwoo had said in the shower two days ago has been on your mind constantly, and your heart races at the notion of having alone time with your boyfriend and Jaehyun. 

Before your mind can go too deep down the sexual rabbit hole however, you’re faced with something unexpected: there are people in the kitchen.

You, Jaehyun and Jungwoo freeze, as do the two men, who seem to be in the middle of baking cookies- although, there’s flour in Mark’s hair, and a smear of something on the cheek of the other man-

“You guys are home!” Mark says, as still as a statue with his whisk in hand-

“No, you guys are home-” Jungwoo retorts in shock- “did you two sneak away from the bar?”

“Did you three sneak away from the bar?” now the white-haired man is echoing, with a sly grin on his face. He relaxes back against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest and eying you. 

“Uh-” Mark looks like a dear in headlights, gaze flickering between you and his friend- “Duck, this is Yuta-”

“Hi Ducky,” Yuta holds up a hand, waving his fingers at you.

“Hi,” you offer meekly, grabbing onto Jungwoo’s arm to tuck closer to him-

“We’re uh-” Jungwoo swallows thickly, “we’re going to go watch some shows-”

“And we’re just baking some cookies,” Mark says pointedly, “just… baking some cookies.”

There’s a moment of tense silence, then Jungwoo clears his throat again. “It’s uh, some nice music you have on- you should maybe… turn it up?”

“What?” Mark’s jaw drops a little, and he looks between you, Jungwoo and Jaehyun.

“We can turn it up,” Yuta says, reaching for his phone. The rap music gets louder, and Yuta checks with Jungwoo “is this a good volume?”

“Perfect,” Jungwoo nods. 

There’s another moment where no one speaks, and then Jaehyun says, “enjoy your baking.” He takes your hand, and begins to drag you and Jungwoo towards the stairs.  

As you head up to the second level, Jungwoo starts giggling.

“What?” you ask, tugging on his arm.

“It’s just funny-” Jungwoo grins, “Mark and Yuta-”

“Mark did say he was getting laid the other day,” Jaehyun adds. “I thought he might be talking about that girl in his psych class, but I guess not.”

“Good for them though,” you say. “I think I saw them together the first time I came over for a frat party- they were standing really close to each other-”

What Jungwoo had said about ‘frat guys [relying] on each other for emotional stuff’ rings clear through your head again, and it warms your heart to know your little trio isn’t the only ‘unconventional’ pairing in the frathouse.

When you reach their room, Jungwoo locks the door, and Jaehyun moves to grab the laptop.

“Jae- what are you doing?” Jungwoo asks, leaning back against the door with a grin.

“Getting the laptop so we can watch our show?” Jaehyun suggests.

You and Jungwoo exchange glances, and your heart melts again at the innocence of Jaehyun-

Jungwoo had been a little flirty on your walk back to the frat, but obviously his friend hadn’t picked up on any of it. 

It’s clear to you that you’re going to have to be direct and upfront with Jaehyun-

You adore how unassuming he is.

Jungwoo had straight up told Mark and Yuta to make their music louder- which to you, would be an obvious indicator towards the three of you intending to loudly fuck each other- but Jae seems oblivious to it-

“We didn’t come back here to watch a show,” Jungwoo states.

There it is.

“Huh?” Jaehyun puts the laptop back down, turning to face you both with a confused expression.

“I said,” Jungwoo pulls you to his chest, locking you in an embrace, “we didn’t come back here to watch a show. But I mean- if you want to watch a show, I guess we can watch a show-”

There’s a moment of quiet, rap music thumps loudly from downstairs, and you find your skin heating with anxiety. You turn to cling to your boyfriend, burying your face against his chest, “you have to be straight with him.”

“I’m never straight with him,” Jungwoo teases, pressing a kiss to your forehead, but a moment later his attention is back on his friend. “Look, Ducky and I like you Jae- I didn’t realize how much I liked you until this one started making you jealous,” he squeezes you fondly. “We talked about it, and we both agreed it would be nice to let you join- if you wanted to. But if you just wanna sit and watch our show- that’s fine too.”

You hug Jungwoo tightly, unable to face Jae- 

You wait with your breath held for him to respond.

“You both agreed?” Jaehyun says finally.

“Uh huh, Ducky is being shy,” Jungwoo looks down at you, “but she wants this, don’t you, Ducky?” 

You nod.

“Don’t just nod,” Jungwoo laughs, turning you around in his embrace to face his roommate, “tell Jae you want him too.”

“He hasn’t said he wants me, yet,” you point out, frowning a little-

“Of course he wants you, look at him,” Jungwoo’s hands find your hips, and the two of you assess Jaehyun together. “Tell him you want him, and I bet he’ll snap.” 

You swallow thickly, mustering up the courage to be honest. 

It’s a shock how okay with this Jungwoo is- as much as you’d discussed Jaehyun joining your bedroom activities, part of you had thought maybe - when faced with the situation - Jungwoo might change his mind.

If anything, Jungwoo’s all in, and you can feel his cock stiffening by your bum-

He must really enjoy this- the push-pull, the tension so thick you could cut it with a knife-

“Jae-” you say, your voice cracking-

You needn’t say more, because in two steps, Jaehyun’s in front of you, cupping your face in his hands and pressing his lips to your own. 

You can’t help the way your body melts into the kiss, your own hands reaching for the front of Jaehyun’s shirt to pull him closer-

With a small groan, Jaehyun concedes, pinning you between him and Jungwoo while his tongue swipes across your bottom lip, begging for entrance-

Your body responds without a second thought, your mouth opening to allow Jaehyun’s tongue to glide past your own, earning mirrored sounds of pleasure from you both-

Behind you, Jungwoo presses even tighter to your ass, rutting against you while his hand slips down the front of your torso, toying with the button of your jeans-

When Jungwoo’s lips press to your neck, you shiver, releasing a whimpered sound that has both men grinning against you.

“Feels good?” Jaehyun asks, breaking the kiss to pinch your chin.

You force your eyes open to look at him, managing a small nod while you reach behind you in an attempt to pull Jungwoo even closer-

“You and your little nods,” Jaehyun chuckles, eyes twinkling with adoration while his thumb brushes by your cheekbone. 

“She’s gonna speak up for us,” Jungwoo promises at your rear, “isn’t that right, Ducky?”

You nod, biting at your lip before saying “uh huh-” 

You’re eager to be kissing Jaehyun again, and it’s torture having him so close but still so far-

“Needy ducky,” Jaehyun coos, thumb brushing across your lip-

He leans in to kiss you, allowing you to be distracted again while the two men continue to explore you with their hands. 

Jungwoo’s gotten your top button undone, and he’s wrestling with your zipper now. Meanwhile, Jaehyun’s spare hand braces your rib cage, fingers toying with the underwire of your bra, concealed by your shirt.

The two men work so well together- it’s shocking how in sync they can be, both of them pulling away from you at the same time to remove your shirt and pants-

“Bed,” Jungwoo says as he nearly trips you while tugging your jeans away from your feet-

“Mine or yours?” comes Jaehyun’s response.

“Doesn’t matter.”

It really doesn’t- and you find yourself being tossed onto Jungwoo’s bed a moment later. 

You scramble a little, feeling exposed in your bra and panties while the two basketball players look down at your form. 

“Isn’t she pretty?” Jungwoo grins, reaching out to toy his fingers up your shin.

“Gorgeous,” Jaehyun agrees, swallowing thickly. “How are we going to do this?”

“I don’t know,” your boyfriend cocks his head to the side. “What are you feeling, Ducky?”

Part of you had been expecting to just lay back and take what they give you- you’d been ready to accept practically anything- but now that you’re being put on the spot, now that your wants are being recognized specifically- 

There’s a voice in your mind telling you to go all the way- to try being stuffed by both in the most intimate way possible- but as someone without much experience in threesomes, you think maybe it’s a good idea to start with something less intrusive.

Licking your lips, you realize; “I want to suck off Jae while you fuck me.” 

Both men let out small groans of satisfaction, and Jungwoo whispers the phrase “spit roasing” before ripping off his shirt and prompting you to “get on your hands and knees please, Ducky baby.”

“Should I-” Jaehyun takes a step forward, “should I get on the bed?”

“Up to you- you could stand, or you could kneel on the bed, I don’t think it really matters,” Jungwoo responds. “What do you think, Duck?”

“On the bed,” you suggest, shifting on your knees so you’re facing the head of Jungwoo’s mattress. You pat the spot in front of you, offering Jaehyun a smile of reassurance. 

The bed dips as Jungwoo gets onto the foot of it, and then his large hands are cupping your hips, pulling you back and up, into a doggy-like position that gives him easy access to your core.

Your boyfriend begins to massage your ass, and you would bet he’s watching Jaehyun as he gets settled on his knees in front of you.

You both go for his belt a the same time, and you feel your skin heat with embarrassment-

“Jae,” Jungwoo’s smooth voice sounds from your rear, “Ducky does best when you tell her what to do. Praise her a little.”

Jaehyun looks down at you with as serious an expression as ever, but then he visibly softens. “Do you wanna undo my belt?” he asks.

You nod eagerly, hand flying up to start the task-

“Ducky, I told you to speak up too, didn’t I?” Jungwoo questions, kneading your ass gently with his large, warm hands.

“No nodding,” Jaehyun agrees, “you did mention that.”

“Sorry,” you breathe, unbuttoning Jaehyun’s pants.

“It’s okay,” Jungwoo presses a kiss to your bum, and you can feel his breath fan over your pussy even through the panties that he gingerly pulls to the side- 

He licks a stripe of your core, pressing his tongue between your folds-

Then his thumb finds your clit, and you release a moan, faltering with Jaehyun’s zipper-

“She likes that,” Jaehyun breathes above you. “Don’t you Duck?”

“Yes Jae,” you force out, hooking your fingers in his jeans to begin to tug them down, “he always feels so good-”

“I bet he does,” the point guard swallows thickly, reaching down to capture your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes. “You two are a great couple.”

You blink at him.

Out of all the praise he could have given you- and he’d chosen to draw attention to both you and Jungwoo, who releases a groan of satisfaction, smiling against your pussy-

“Thank you, Jae,” you respond, remembering to be vocal.

He grins down at you, pinching your chin in an affectionate way before retracting his hand. “Do you guys have a system for when your mouth is full?” he asks next. 

Jungwoo chuckles against you- he’s not the type for ‘systems’ when it comes to sex. He doesn’t even bother to get into it, pushing his tongue into your pussy, lapping at your walls while his thumb rubs your clit in gentle circles.

“We could-” your breath catches when Jungwoo presses harder on your sensitive bud, “one tap for yes, two for no and stop?”

“That works,” Jaehyun nods. “Are you both sure you want to do this?”

“Jae-” Jungwoo sighs loudly from behind you, snickering, “she told you she wants you in her mouth- stop talking and just do it.” 

You find yourself smiling at your boyfriend’s antics, and Jaehyun obviously takes your smile as confirmation to follow through, so he shifts his pants down, allowing his cock to spring free.

For a millisecond- you’re taken aback by how pretty Jaehyun’s dick is.

It shouldn’t be a surprise- after all, the rest of him is utterly gorgeous.

He’s not as big as Jungwoo, who probably is the owner of the biggest cock you’ve ever had inside of you, but he has a pretty curvature to him-

Wrapping your hand around the base of his dick, you guide Jaehyun to your mouth, caressing him with your tongue.

The beautiful man releases a groan that goes straight to your core- which, coincidently, Jungwoo pulls away from.

You whine around Jaehyun, and his hips shudder, pushing his cock deeper into your mouth.

Behind you, Jungwoo’s hooked his fingers in your panties again, and he’s tugging them down your thighs, allowing them to catch at your knees.

You know what’s coming, and you push your ass back towards your lover, giving it a small wiggle of invitation.

“Pretty baby,” Jungwoo coos, one hand massaging your ass, spreading you open for him-

Jaehyun pulls out of your mouth suddenly, and at the same time, Jungwoo drags you back, impaling you on his cock and filling you deliciously, your walls stretching to accommodate his massive length-

A strangled moan slips out of you, a string of saliva keeping you connected to the cock that’s pushed between your lips again, nearly making you choke as you struggle to breathe in through your nose.

You’re truly being spit-roasted.

There are two dicks inside of you- two men on either end of your body, one in your pussy, one in your mouth- and it feels glorious.

You hardly know where to focus, and when Jungwoo says “that’s our good ducky” your entire body practically sings with energy and delight.

“So good,” Jaehyun agrees with a grunt, finding a pace to match Jungwoo’s that allows him to push into you every time Jungwoo moves to pull away-

“Duck’s gonna cum,” Jungwoo announces, fingers digging into your hips while he fucks you harder.

“Do you make her-” the point guard is cut off by a groan, “do you make her ask permission?”

“Of course not,” Jungwoo laughs, “we just make her cum.”

Your boyfriend reaches a hand around your body, fingers finding your clit, and you moan loudly around Jaehyun, who pulls out of your mouth-

You take in a strangled breath, begging “please-” as Jungwoo works you over the edge, fucking into you and rubbing at your clit while you whimper and moan, forehead pressed against Jaehyun’s thigh-

In your periphery, you can see the point guard has his hand wrapped around his cock, and he’s pumping himself to the sounds of you cumming, giving you free rein to fill the room with your pretty moans-

“She sounds so good-” Jaehyun groans, prompting you to eagerly go for his cock again-

You need something to suck on, something to pacify you instead of allowing Jungwoo to throw you into overstimulation-

As you come down from your orgasm, Jungwoo relents on your clit. Instead, he goes for the back of your bra, where he undoes the clasp and allows it to fall free.

Then his large hands are cupping your breasts, kneading you affectionately while he leans over your back, gasping against your shoulder-

He must be close too.

In fact, you’re a little shocked your orgasm hadn’t prompted his own-

Jungwoo is king of ‘when you cum, I cum’ so you think he must be holding out today, must be trying really hard to prolong this whole thing, to make it count.

“Fuck- I think I’m close too-” Jaehyun admits above you, and you swear Jungwoo makes a sound of relief. 

“Me too,” he echos, straightening again, hands finding your hips to anchor you to his thrusts. 

“But I don’t want to-” Jaehyun groans, swallowing thickly, “don’t want to cum unless she cums again.”

“We can make that happen,” Jungwoo promises. “If I rub her clit again, and you go a little harder-”

The man with his dick in your mouth laughs. “Go harder?” 

“Uh huh,” Jungwoo grunts, reaching around your body for your clit. “If you deep-throat her- she’ll cum really hard.”

“She likes choking?” Jaehyun asks- you can tell he’s been trying to be sensitive with you, not pushing too deep into your mouth for fear of hurting you- but now he has the go-ahead, and when he thrusts into you, hitting the back of your throat, your eyes roll back into your head with pleasure.

“Fuck- she squeezes so tight when you do that-” Jungwoo pants, rubbing your clit vigorously-

“Yeah?” Jaehyun breathes. “What a good fucking Ducky-” 

“So good-” Jungwoo agrees. “Come on duck, cum for us- you know you want to. Be good and cum, it will feel so nice, I promise-” 

The way your boyfriend is babbling betrays how close he is to cumming, and as Jae repeatedly thrusts into your throat, you find yourself teetering on the edge again.

“That’s it-” Jungwoo groans, “let go for us Duck, come on, please-”

Your core tightens around Jungwoo for the second time, orgasm slamming into you like nothing you’ve ever experienced-

“Fuck, fuck- where should I cum-” Jaehyun asks, hips shuddering-

“Her mouth-” Jungwoo responds, pushing fully into you before he releases his own load, painting your inner walls while he groans in ecstasy-

Jaehyun cums a moment later, driving his cock as deep down your throat as he can- 

It’s almost too much, being completely filled by them both in this way, and you have to focus hard on breathing through your nose while your pussy thrums with pleasure, body electrified from your orgasm.

Then Jaehyun’s pulling out of your mouth, and you can finally take a deep gasp of air, sputtering and moaning and whimpering, nearly collapsing face first into the bed while Jungwoo continues to shallowly rut into your core, riding out his orgasm to completion.

“Holy fuck-” Jaehyun groans, earning exhausted chuckles from both you and your lover, who finally comes to a stop at your rear.

“You can say that again,” Jungwoo laughs, both his hands smoothing across your bum and lower back. “Stay still Ducky, I’m going to grab something to clean you up.”

“I can grab it,” the point guard in front of you pulls up his pants and gets off the bed easier than you or your boyfriend could, and he grabs some tissues from the nightstand next to his bed.

“No, get the wet wipes,” Jungwoo insists, pointing at his backpack, “outside pocket.”

“Haechan always made fun of you for being a neat freak and having these-” Jaehyun says with a laugh, leaning down to get the wipes. “But I guess the joke was on him.”

“Clean sex is safe sex,” Jungwoo grins behind you, accepting the wetwipes thrown his way. “Usually Ducky likes shower sex actually- it makes clean up easier.”

“She does, does she?” Jaehyun kneels next to the bed, getting eye level with you. He reaches out and pushes some of the hair out of your face. “You okay?”

You nod. “Yes, Jae.”

Jungwoo wipes the cum starting to dribble out of your core, and you hear him swallow thickly. “You know… maybe we should go to the shower.”

“Did you make that much of a mess?” Jaehyun laughs.

“Yes.”

The two men exchange a glance.

You’d thought Jungwoo’s sex drive alone was high- 

You’re starting to realize, with both of them together, with two basketball-playing frat boy roommates to feed off of each other’s energies- well, put simply; you’re in for a lot; and you couldn’t be happier about it.

“Shower later,” you find yourself saying, pulling away from Jungwoo now that he’s done cleaning you up. You roll onto your back, stretching your arms above your head- “I just want some cuddles, and to watch our show.”

“Were you thinking of feeding Phil while we were fucking you?” Jungwoo teases, pushing at your leg and laughing.

You hardly think you need to respond, because it’s a ridiculous question. But when you look at Jaehyun, you see that he needs an answer, so you assure both men “I had no thoughts but wow this is nice.”

“It is nice,” Jungwoo agrees, collapsing onto the bed next to you and curling his body against your back, effectively turning you into his small spoon. “Come on Jae,” he says next, patting the space in front of you, “come be the tiniest spoon.”

Part of you is shocked at how willingly Jaehyun submits to the request, grabbing the laptop before settling in front of you. 

You tug the point guard back by his hip, sandwiching yourself between the two warm bodies while Jaehyun gets the show started, setting it on the bedside table where you can all see.

“Are you both sure this is okay?” he asks, fingers hovering over the start button.

“Jae,” Jungwoo groans behind you, reaching over your body to pull Jaehyun even tighter to you, “quit worrying so much.”

Jungwoo has more than enough easy confidence for all three of you.

You’re glad to be sharing Jungwoo with Jaehyun, who obviously needed his roommate back, and as the three of you settle in to watching your show, you allow yourself to be enveloped in peace and ease.

How could you ask for anything else?

☀️ mlist + an. thank you for reading! I know this is a new pairing on my blog, but i hope you enjoyed them as much as i did :)

🍭 support me by. sending a tip here or here - or become a patron to access monthly bonus content and extensions for fics like this one :) find the Patreon teaser below! 

🔮 preview. Now you're truly sandwiched, both holes filled perfectly, and the moans of pleasure you all release into the echoey shower room make your skin tingle with exhibitionistic delight.-

cw/ tw. threesome, exhibitionism, double penetration, anal, unprotected sex, oral (m receiving), praise, spit as lube, etc... I pet names. ducky :)

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 2.5k I teaser wc. 300

🌙 staring. jaehyun & jungwoo x afab!Reader  

bonus

Dressed in black - non regulation - shorts, and his red jersey, snapback atop his head- Jaehyun is one of the prettiest guys on the whole university basketball team. Most girls would be intimidated to be up against him on the court- only, you have another one of the most attractive varsity athletes behind you too-

Jungwoo’s hands snake around your waist, and he easily lifts you while sidestepping, putting his large form between you and Jaehyun so you can access the basketball net- 

“You guys are cheaters,” Jaehyun says with a sigh. He’s lost count of the score by now-

“Cheaters!” Jungwoo gasps in shock, capturing you in his arms and pinning you back to his chest- he turns you to face his roommate. “Us? Cheat on you? How could you say such a thing, Jae?”

The basketball player rolls his eyes at his roommate’s antics- “let’s switch teams.”

“You know what? Good idea.” Jungwoo releases you shockingly fast- turning you so he can eye you with a smile. “Duck, it can be you versus me and Jae- first one to the locker room wins.”

“You’re insatiable,” you tell him, returning his grin as he pulls you in for one last shockingly chaste kiss- before you dart away, eager to be first to the lockers.

He’s done this a few times now; taken you to ‘play some basketball’ only to quickly bore of it and move you to the privacy of the lockers instead- 

Your boyfriends know the court schedule like the backs of their hands- and they know that no one is going to be around for 45 minutes or so- when the janitor will hit this as the final gym to lock up before closing.

You enjoy the controlled exhibitionism of it all- technically, anyone could walk in.

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[aemnd]

i wanna say something﹐ & i hope people understand where i'm coming from when i say this﹒﹒ ꒰ᥩ ྀི◞ ก but sometimes it can feel really discouraging as a writer when you pour so much time﹐ care﹐ & emotion into longer fics – especially ones that are 1-10k ꒰꒰& even more﹐ obvi!꒱꒱ words long – only to see them receive very little engagement﹐ while much shorter works can gain thousands of notes in a matter of days﹒﹒ & this isn't me trying to tear other writers down or say anyone is undeserving of support for their writing﹐ because that's genuinely never been & never will be my intention﹒

i just think a lot of writers﹐ especially those who spend hours or even days﹐ weeks﹐ & months ꒰꒰or even years!꒱꒱ crafting longer stories﹐ can sometimes feel a little disheartened when the effort they put into their work doesn't seem to connect with people in the same way﹒﹒ y'know? especially when fandom spaces often talk about wanting more long-form fics & detailed storytelling﹒ i truly do write for myself first & foremost because writing has always been my biggest passion﹐ & i genuinely love creating fanfic stories so much﹒﹒ ⸜̑⸝͂ but i also share my works because i want to connect with others through my writing﹒ i genuinely think most writers naturally hope their works will resonate with people﹐ spark conversations﹐ or make someone really feel something﹒ ⸜̑⸝͂

i will always love fandom﹒﹒ fr﹒ ⸜̑⸝͂ i love how fandom creates a beautiful bond & community between those who write fanfics & those who engage with said fanfics﹐ but i also think it's completely okay for writers to admit that low engagement can sometimes feel a little discouraging﹒﹒ i dunno﹐ it's just something to think about﹒﹒ ! also﹐ pls do not send me any hate for my own opinion that i posted on my blog – this is just something i've been lowkey struggling with for quite some time now﹐ & i thought i'd express my own personal feelings since i'm certain that other writers have felt / feel this way as well﹒ anyways﹐ please always be kind to each other﹐ & always spread peace + love﹒ ⸜̑⸝͂ (!) this blog has zero tolerance for any kind of hate or negativity﹒﹒ keep it to yourselves﹐ 𝑥𝑜﹒ ⸜̑⸝͂

[midniqhtt]

comfort fic reads II 4k celebration

₊˚⊹⋆ main masterlist ꨄ︎ part two list ₊˚⊹⋆

a/n: list got too long and had me maxed out. so i shifted some fandoms to part two instead.

hi loves! i never do anything for celebrating but i thought i could make a big list of all my favorite fics i’ve read over the past few months/years and continue rereading. i can never get enough of showing my appreciation for writers and all their hard work, and i want them to know i think of these fics/series at least once a day ♡︎ i say ‘comfort’ but theres more angst lol

key- A: angst II F: fluff II S: smut II SB: slow burn II C: comfort

.𖥔 MARVEL .𖥔

𝑩𝑶𝑩 𝑹𝑬𝒀𝑵𝑶𝑳𝑫𝑺

ꨄ︎ loving you is easy two II @blank-potato II A + F

You and Bob are indifferent to each other, never seeming to mesh. But when you lose your memory, something new blooms between the two of you.

ꨄ︎ fooled around and fell in love II @flowersforbucky II S + A + F

you've never been one for commitment, and your teammates know it. when you and bob start seeing each other, it takes them by surprise and makes them worry about how he'll react to the heartbreak that they expect to follow. what they don't understand - you've never felt like this about anyone.

ꨄ︎ soft currents next to you II @nghtwngs II S + A + F

there is falling in love. there is also falling into another universe. there is also falling in love again.

ꨄ︎ home is where the heart is II @ilovemilestellersmoustache II A + F

Wanting to feel more included Bob decides to help on a mission but in efforts to protect you he injures himself leaving him with amnesia. Your boyfriend not remembering isn’t the biggest problem because he’s always going to find you again, even in a hundred lifetimes.

ꨄ︎ soulmate II @geminiwritten II A + C

you're engaged to bucky when you find out that not only are fated mates real, but you have one... and it's not your fiancé

ꨄ︎ we can’t be friends part two II @tfatwsbarnes II A

bob always wondered why you didn’t favour him over the rest of your team. until he learned that you had unsettled the bones of the tva.

ꨄ︎ cowboy like me II @goldenlikedayl1ght II A + F

you get a text from an old friend and think.. you could do worse than a book club.. with some benefits.

ꨄ︎ xerox two three II @ichori II A + SB + C

you had one last job before you were free. no more splitting, no more deaths. unfortunately, that job seemed to rope in four other assassins and a... a man in hospital-wear?

𝑩𝑼𝑪𝑲𝒀 𝑩𝑨𝑹𝑵𝑬𝑺

ꨄ︎ bad boys don’t buy flowers II @espinosaurusrexex II S + A + F

Bucky would have never thought, he’d be chasing after a girl. Not when all of them usually fell at his feet. But when he finds himself entangled in a deal born out of a desperate argument with his assistant, he realizes there is nothing he wouldn't do for you: The independent florist who is adamantly dragging him to the homeless shelter every chance she gets. There is just one problem: Bucky doesn't know how to tell you. And the teasing from his friends is certainly not making things easier for him...

ꨄ︎ come back to you II @buckyalpine II F

What happens when a time travel mission ends up with a version of Bucky from the 40′s standing on the time travel platform.

ꨄ︎ curiosity killed the cat II @queers-gambit II A + C

after rescuing you from kidnappers, you overhear your boyfriend-turned-savior complain about how clingy you've become.

ꨄ︎ you’re my desire part two II @marvelouslizzie and @notafunkiller II S + F

Your best friend drags you out on a double date. You were supposed to be Steve Rogers' date, but plans change pretty quickly and you end up in Bucky Barnes' arms.

ꨄ︎ graveyard part two II @wkemeup II A + C

As the unofficial healer for the Avengers, you pride yourself on the ability to mend heroes with the touch of your hand. Only, your gift comes at a heavy price — one you keep secret from your friends —and when Bucky asks you to do the impossible, they’ll discover why your gift is called a sacrifice, too. 

ꨄ︎ dreamscape II @/wkemeup II A + C

When Bucky falls under the spell of a Djinn, the line between fantasy and reality blurs. In order to survive, he must fight his way back to the real world - even if it costs him everything he's ever wanted.

ꨄ︎ blurred lines part two II @ellemj II S + A + F

When choosing a female agent to send back in time to gain young Sergeant Barnes's trust, everyone's in agreement that it should be Sharon. Until Bucky, the man that you barely get along with, speaks up and lets everyone know that it could only be you.

ꨄ︎ love language II @/flowersforbucky II S + F

snapshots of your relationship with bucky told through the five love languages.

ꨄ︎ flashing lights part two II @pellucid-constellations II A + C

Bucky’s worst fears come true when he’s called to a scene. If he’s the one with the dangerous job, then why is it your life that’s hanging in the balance?

ꨄ︎ stay still part two II @buckysknifecollection II A + C

What if your soulmate was the one person you had hurt the most?

ꨄ︎ saturn II @shurisneakers II A

you die. bucky tries to bring you back (or) close to a year after you die, bucky's desperation finally finds an answer. but it may not be the one he's hoping for.

ꨄ︎ bleeding heart II mournthebird II A + C

You're his assigned nurse.

ꨄ︎ 40s!bucky II @helaintoloki II A + F

after accidentally sending yourself back in time, you run into a younger version of the man you loathe only to find yourself questioning your feelings for him

𝑱𝑶𝑯𝑵 𝑾𝑨𝑳𝑲𝑬𝑹

ꨄ︎ under my skin II @/flowersforbucky II F

what first begins as a series of bad luck shows you a different side of the man who normally drives you crazy.

ꨄ︎ moral of the story II @dearwalker II A

You never expected to be blindly sent to kill your ex-husband, but when you cross paths again in looping shame rooms, it’s like going through the pain all over again.

𝑴𝑨𝑻𝑻 𝑴𝑼𝑹𝑫𝑶𝑪𝑲

ꨄ︎ without you part 2 II @foli-vora II A

You return after the 'blip'. Five years is a long time, and a lot of things can happen in that time.

𝑴𝑶𝑶𝑵 𝑲𝑵𝑰𝑮𝑯𝑻

ꨄ︎ for science II @projectionistwrites II S + A + C

In which the Moon Knight alter system presents a unique opportunity to settle the nature versus nurture debate, once and for all...

ꨄ︎ red flags II @astroboots and @thirstworldproblemss II S + A + F

Sweet as he is, dating Steven means you have to be willing to ignore a few red flags along the way. 

ꨄ︎ the jake problem pt2 II @bensolosbluesaber II S + A + C

Jake hates you. Like really hates you, which wouldn’t be a problem if you weren’t dating Steven and Marc. But maybe, just maybe, Jake doesn’t hate you.

𝑷𝑬𝑻𝑬𝑹 𝑷𝑨𝑹𝑲𝑬𝑹

ꨄ︎ sunset lovers II @duskholland II F

you’ve never met your soulmate, but you know his handwriting like the back of your hand—literally. every word your soulmate writes on his skin appears on yours, and vice versa. you’re desperate to meet him, but until the universe decides to introduce you, you’re stuck with scribbled smiley faces and chemistry formulae.

ꨄ︎ one more to see you II @waitimcomingtoo II A

in an effort to see Peter again, you Dream Walk and learn it’s consequences

𝑷𝑰𝑬𝑻𝑹𝑶 𝑴𝑨𝑿𝑰𝑴𝑶𝑭𝑭

ꨄ︎ silent treatment II @floral-and-fine II A + C

where the words their soulmate speaks first are tattooed on their arm.

𝑺𝑻𝑬𝑽𝑬 𝑹𝑶𝑮𝑬𝑹𝑺

ꨄ︎ watchful eyes II @/espinosaurusrexex II S + A + F

When your best friend gets you a new job, cleaning the apartment of the most successful man in New York City, you don't hesitate to accept. The pay is more than good, and the man himself is better than any eye candy you have ever seen. Unbeknownst to you, you've caught his attention just as much. Steve can't keep his mind off you, so much so, that he drives everyone around him insane with his grumpiness when you aren't around. It seems like he has to take matters into his own hands when he realizes, you're too shy to take things further yourself.

ꨄ︎ out of time pt2 pt3 pt4 pt5 pt6 pt7 pt8 II @after-avenging-hours II S + A + F

When Steve is poisoned on a mission, his only hope is a pure Super Soldier Serum. You travel to 1943 to find it—but without the infinity stones, your actions could change the future. Can you save him before time runs out?

.𖥔 TOP GUN .𖥔

𝑩𝑶𝑩 𝑭𝑳𝑶𝒀𝑫

ꨄ︎ the plan II @/geminiwritten II A + F

the squad are all pretty sure that bob has a thing for you, but you're not convinced, so you hatch a plan to tease him within an inch of his life until he snaps

ꨄ︎ the kind of girl i could love II @roosterforme II F

Bob has a secret admirer, but he's convinced it's actually Jake and Nat messing with him. 

𝑩𝑹𝑨𝑫𝑳𝑬𝒀 𝑩𝑹𝑨𝑫𝑺𝑯𝑨𝑾

ꨄ︎ love to lie pt2 pt3 pt4 II @/ddejavvu II A + F

Your worst fear is recognized when Bradley’s jet goes down with him in it. You’re not sure why you’re still his emergency contact, you’d broken up two weeks ago, but when you rush into the hospital room, you discover that you have a chance to fix the mistake you’d been cursing yourself for. The only problem is, you have to lie to Bradley, and you discover that you love doing it if it means you get to be with him again.

ꨄ︎ things unseen and heard II @bloatedandalone04 II S + A + F

the one where you overhear bradley talk about you to jake and decide to give him the space he apparently wanted.

ꨄ︎ playing games II @/geminiwritten II A + F

you've been best friends with rooster for years and you're both obviously in love with each other, but he refuses to cross that line... until you accept some help from hangman and he takes the game just a little too far

ꨄ︎ wrong number II @roosterforme II F

Bradley was planning on a quiet night at home with a beer and a basketball game on TV. When he receives a text from a wrong number, he's left looking at a beautiful photo of you. Now he just needs to persuade you to ditch the guy you meant to text and focus on him instead.

ꨄ︎ between friends II @sometimesanalice II S + F

Bradley and you don’t talk about that Spring Break. But a single question asked during a night out at the Hard Deck might just change things between the two of you forever.

ꨄ︎ trouble in paradise II @/sunlightmurdock II S + A

After the most painful break-up of his life, Rooster is stationed in Hawaii for the next six months. Alone, away from home and hurting, he finds comfort in the arms of a stranger.

ꨄ︎ i’ll show you good, restore your faith II @/se7entyrell II A + F

Your relationship with Bradley is new. Really new. Like, 'haven't let him smell your morning breath yet' new. But when he gets a call telling him that his mom is dying, you find yourself driving him to San Diego in the middle of the night, preparing to meet his entire extended family during the worst period of their lives.

ꨄ︎ terms of endearment II @ohtobeleah II A + C (heavy themes)

They always say when you aren’t looking for love it tends to find you. So when you and your daughter turn up in Fighter Town, Bradley Bradshaw is instantly infatuated. With reluctance to trust and harbouring a bad past, you don’t make it easy for the fighter pilot to love you.

𝑱𝑨𝑲𝑬 𝑺𝑬𝑹𝑬𝑺𝑰𝑵

ꨄ︎ domestic fantasy II @/geminiwritten II F

your ex is coming back to collect some things he left behind and you accidentally tell him that you have a new boyfriend, so hangman accepts the role of your new (fake) boyfriend

ꨄ︎ dirty laundry part two II @/geminiwritten II S + A + F

after a couple months of living together, you're still completely oblivious to how you affect jake and he's starting to spiral because now he's... feeling things

ꨄ︎ medical emergency II @marvelwitchergilmore II F

When Jake gets a call asking to pick you up from the hospital, it's safe to say he's confused. Especially considering neither of you were known for getting along with the other.

ꨄ︎ sign of the times pt2 pt3 pt4 pt5 pt6 pt7 II @se7entyrell II S + A

You're destined to die in Jake Seresin's arms. In every life, in every iteration, it's inescapable. Whether you loathe, or love each other, each ending stays the same. But what if it doesn't have to?

ꨄ︎ spring fling pt2 pt3 pt4 pt5 pt6 pt7 II @ddejavvu II F (in progress)

You should have known the ‘no refunds’ detail on the website for Spring Fling was a red flag. But you paid no mind to it, eager to be assigned a quick fuck for spring break. When the man that walks through your cabin door is none other than Jake 'Hangman' Seresin, your wildly infuriating fellow pilot, you have two choices: bicker the entire time and have a miserable spring break, or fuck.

.𖥔 MISCELLANEOUS .𖥔

𝑹𝑯𝑬𝑻𝑻 𝑨𝑩𝑩𝑶𝑻𝑻

ꨄ︎ odds are stacked II @sunlightmurdock II S

In which Rhett loses a bet and you lose your virginity.

𝑻𝒀𝑳𝑬𝑹 𝑶𝑾𝑬𝑵𝑺

ꨄ︎ all yours II @/geminiwritten II A + F

after being best friends and chasing storms with tyler for years, one night changes everything... now you're staring at a pregnancy test with two pink lines—and just as you're working up the nerve to tell him, tyler announces to the world that he never wants to settle down or have kids

ꨄ︎ orange juice II @ahsokaismyqueen II S + F

When it's time to interview a group of storm chasers for your new book, you get sent back to your hometown. You never would have guessed one of the people you'd be interviewing would be your ex boyfriend. And you might still be a little in love with him.

ꨄ︎ no hesitation II @briefinquiries II S + F

Tyler would be the type of guy that if a girl came up to him and said ‘this guy is creepy, pls pretend to be my bf’ he would be like ‘hell yay’ and scare the guy away

𝑪𝑯𝑹𝑰𝑺 𝑩𝑬𝑪𝑲

ꨄ︎ all the stars are closer II @kashimos-hajime II A + F

mark watney wasn’t the only one left behind on mars, and as you struggle to survive on the desert planet, hidden feelings come to light between you and your best friend, dr. chris beck.

𝑪𝑳𝑨𝑹𝑲 𝑲𝑬𝑵𝑻

ꨄ︎ all american boy II @scribes-of-valar II A + C

Your friend has been distant for months, all of a sudden he's a brand new man. He's practically a puppy dog following after you and you're not sure how to feel. What's a girl to do when she suddenly finds herself looking at not one, but two Clark Kent's?

ꨄ︎ no.1 party anthem II @sunsburns II F

what was supposed to be a night for work takes an unexpected turn when you run into clark kent—alone at a restaurant, waiting for a date who seems to have no intention of showing up. poor guy.

𝑴𝑰𝑪𝑯𝑨𝑬𝑳 𝑹𝑶𝑩𝑰𝑵𝑨𝑽𝑰𝑻𝑪𝑯

ꨄ︎ an itch you can’t scratch pt2 II @theonewiththefanfics II S + A + F

After taking a bad fall, Y/N gets rushed to the ED of Pittsburg Trauma Medical Hospital only to come face to face with a man she had a one-night stand with, and who ghosted her that same morning without a word - Dr. Michael "Robby" Robinavitch. As if her bad day couldn't get any worse than it was...

[magikdarkholme]

Can we STOP tagging x reader in NON FANFIC POSTS. its acc so annoying having to scroll for ages past talks stupid ass posts (no shade)…

[stevie-petey]

COME HOME (S.H.)

a stranger things rewrite

"come home to me, okay?" "always," steve promises. in between saving will, then hawkins, then somehow the world, you fall in love with steve harrington.

PAIRINGS: steve harrington x henderson!reader, slight jonathan byers x reader

CONTAINS: fem!reader, slow burn, slight enemies to lovers (reader more just pities steve), cursing, miscommunication, unrequited love, angst, protective older sister chaos, violence in the later seasons.

blurbs ‧₊˚. director's cut .˚₊‧ playlist ‧₊˚. jonathans mixtape for bug

SEASON ONE

SEASON TWO

SEASON THREE

SEASON FOUR

SEASON FIVE

STATUS: ongoing

MAIN MASTERLIST

if you’d like to buy me a coffee ☕︎

[magikdarkholme]

Fav series 🫰🫰

[mashtatosworld]

4 seasons

summary: the 'back to you' series masterlist

the four albums of y/n :

new muse debuted in 2015, shortly after y/n appeared on the music scene with a sudden drop of her first single on GDragon's social media. The album went on to top the charts and the pair performed their hit song together as romance rumours spiralled.

In 2018, y/n released a heartbreak album, burning heart, which catapulted her into music history even as her artistic partner, GDragon, took a step away from the spotlight. y/n found her own success and made a name for herself. She performed the album for the next year before taking a hiatus to focus on other projects.

After launching a successful jewellery collection with Cartier, rumours began to swirl that y/n was dating her fellow brand ambassador. She wouldn't confirm these allegations until 2022.

However, things seemed to fizzle out between them. Fans point their fingers to ex-partner, GDragon, and his release of 'Still Life' just months after the public statement. We would never get to know the truth as both stars went silent until 2024.

y/n's next album, love struck, was her comeback to the music scene after six years of silence. However, she did not perform any songs from the album that year, except one stage appearance with new husband, GDragon. The couple's swift reconciliation shocked fans but they were delighted to see the couple were expecting their first child together.

golden is the last of y/n's four current albums. It details her life now, of which fans label as her 'golden era'. The songs have a more positive vibe as they depict y/n as both a mother and wife. Reports flood in that not only has GDragon starred on the track, but their young daughter has a sweet feature hidden amongst the music.

Stream the songs now and tell us which one is your favourite!

THE MASTERLIST:

drama (back to you series timeline)

new muse

the pursuit

burning heart

you're losing me everything i wanted … with you

love struck

back to you to my lover... little star

golden

calm in the chaos hopelessly devoted the greatest gift number 1 i'll be there 7 years heiress of my heart love and let go insta famous tiny dancer lust for life in your arms i want it, i got it angel of my dream the distraction 08/08 game, set, match a good day to be loved power the end of the beginning follow my lead

taglist: @petersasteria, @mirahyun , @allthoughtsmindfull , @gdinthehouseee , @infinetlyforgotten , @redhoodedtoad , @kathaelipwse , @lxvemaze , @loveesiren , @sherrayyyyy , @getyoassoutthetrunk , @shieraseastarrs , @ctrldivinev , @xxxicddbr88 , @onyxmango , @tryingtolivelifeblog , @tulentiy , @bettelaboure , @maskedcrawford

[levanterhaze]

i'll be over you

pairing: steve harrington x fem.byers! reader summary: you and steve had broken up way back when max got stuck in the upside down. you were so afraid of losing him, that you had to let him go. years passed, the evil were fought and everybody moved on… but you. you receive the invitation in golden-fancy letters: steve harrington is going to get married. he found the love of his life, except, this person is not you. warning: (9K) a lot of angst, this is placed in the epilogue of season 5 so SPOILERS!!!! there's just a slight mention of anxiety, traumas, nothing else. a/n: i'm suffocated by how obssessed and sad i'm by the end of stranger things. i needed to do something about it! my dear baby bambi eyed steve harrington SURVIVED and after seeing him in THAT suit i needed to write something for him.

“Okay,” Jonathan said, clearing his throat, fingers tightening around his mug. “So. Are we gonna adress the elephant in the room, or…?”

The base of your cup hit the wooden table with a soft knock, not loud, just enough to draw his attention. Jonathan looked at you the way only an older brother could, careful and sympathetic, already bracing himself for whatever might spill. He always had that look, like he was afraid of stepping wrong and breaking something fragile.

The coffee shop was curated to be calming. Low lights, exposed brick, a chalkboard menu that didn’t try too hard to be trendy. The cappuccino was good and the pecan cake was sweet without being cloying.

This was your life now.

After Vecna was defeated, after Hawkins stitched itself back together as best it could, the only thing that made sense was leaving. Running, really. Away from a town that had swallowed most of your adolescence whole, a place that took your innocence, chewed it up, and never bothered to apologize.

People died there. People you loved.

NYU had felt like oxygen, a clean inhale after years of breathing smoke. Jonathan had gotten in too, and even though you lived in the same city, your lives rarely overlapped.

That was the magic of New York. You could disappear in it, become someone new.

Still, some habits never die.

Once a month, without fail, you and Jonathan picked a different café, sat for hours, talked about classes, professors, projects, laughed until your faces hurt, and pretended, just a little, that you were normal siblings in a normal city with normal lives.

Sometimes, it was easy. Like today.

Jonathan was animated, hands moving as he talked about a short film he was working on for class, something experimental, political, definitely anti-capitalist. His eyes were bright in a way you didn’t see often. 

You hadn’t seen that look much. Except when—

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said, your voice light, airy, and entirely dishonest.

You did know. Of course you did. You’d just been very careful not to.

There were rules to starting over. Unspoken ones: You didn’t talk about the ghosts.

Jonathan sighed, shoulders dropping as he toyed with a handful of sugar packets. “You do,” he muttered. “You got the invitation.”

The invitation.

It sat on your desk back home, buried under unopened mail and old receipts. Cream-colored paper. Neat lettering. It had a way of catching your eye at night, like it was waiting for you to acknowledge it.

But hearing it out loud did something else entirely.

Steve Harrington’s wedding.

You took another sip of coffee, ignoring the sudden tightness in your throat. Jonathan was reading you, scanning the micro-expressions you were trying so hard to suppress.

“It’s next month,”  he added, his voice softening into a plea. He was offering you a doorway.

You set the cup down carefully. “Tell them I said congratulations. And that I wish them the best.”

Jonathan frowned. “I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

He leaned forward in his chair, elbows hovering near the table, posture folding in on itself the way it always did when he was nervous or about to say something he’d rehearsed too many times in his head.

“As your older brother,” he started.

You scoffed. “You’re older by a year.”

“That still counts,” he said, then hesitated. “I just… I don’t want you to regret the things you didn’t do.  I don’t want you to wake up five years from now wondering if you should’ve done something different.”

Your stomach twisted.

“I don’t want you to do what I did,” he finished quietly.

“With Nancy?”

Jonathan pressed his lips together, nodded once. “Yeah. With Nancy.”

The silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable, it was just heavy. It was the weight of two people who had survived the end of the world only to realize they didn't know how to live in the one that was left.

Outside, the New York traffic roared on, indifferent and fast. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to—” You stopped yourself, then tried again. “Have you talked to her?” You shrugged, though your shoulders felt heavier than they had a moment ago.

Jonathan shook his head.

Nancy Wheeler remained another subject neither of you touched unless absolutely necessary. The love of your brother’s life. Brave, relentless, the kind of girl who would throw herself into danger without hesitation if it meant saving someone she loved.

You knew they weren’t together anymore. He hadn’t given you the details over coffee and cake, but you didn’t need them. The answer lived in the drained tension around his eyes, in the way his gaze drifted when her name came up. 

He wasn’t over her. He had just learned how to live around the hole she left behind.

“Not since she went to college,” he said.

“I’m sorry, Jonathan.”

“Don’t be, okay?” He offered a small, careful smile. “Nancy and I… we were complicated in our own way. But this isn’t about me and Nancy. It’s about you and Harrington.”

You pressed your tongue against the inside of your cheek. Hearing his name out loud sent a chill straight down your spine, sharp and involuntary.

Sometimes, when the sky defiled into twilight and the city felt strangely hollow, the memories came back. Strong red lights. The tower tearing itself apart as the Abyss swallowed it whole. Steve’s body is thrown hard into the void, your knees buckling as a cry ripped from your throat before you even realized it was yours.

You always woke alone, heart racing, tears stinging behind your eyes, your chest aching with the weight of memories that never quite loosened their grip.

“There is no ‘me and Harrington,’” you said, folding your arms, already bracing yourself for an argument.

But once, there had been everything.

The summer of ’85. The sailor suit at Scoops Ahoy that should’ve been humiliating but somehow wasn’t. Becoming El and Max’s personal chauffeur under the excuse that it was too hot to stay home, that they needed air conditioning and the free ice cream Steve handed out like it was currency.

Somewhere along the way, you got close. Suddenly, you were spending every day with him and Robin, lingering during his shifts, laughing behind the counter, decoding Russian messages that dragged you all headfirst into blood, terror, and things no one your age should have survived.

You went through hell together, literally. Loving someone like that rewired you. It meant danger wasn’t just something to fear, it was something you met head-on, something you’d face without thinking if it meant keeping the other person safe.

Jonathan would understand that better than anyone.

Steve was getting married. Good for him. When the invitation arrived on a random Thursday after you came home from your internship, it felt unreal, like your eyes refused to process the words. Steve Harrington, married. Less than two years after everything you’d survived together. The nausea hit so hard you barely made it to the bathroom before throwing up the lunch you’d just eaten.

Not that you would ever say that out loud.

“Hey,” Jonathan said softly, his hand reaching across the table to tap the wood near yours. “Hey. Just think about it. Everyone’s going. Robin. Nancy. The kids.”

You stared at him, at the familiar concern written across his face, and found yourself without an answer.

“I don’t know,” you said quietly. “I don’t know, Jonathan. I don’t know if it’s exactly appropriate to show up at my ex-boyfriend’s wedding just to remind him of the time his life was a literal horror show.”

Jonathan paused, brow furrowing.

“I don’t think that’s how he sees you.”

“And how does he see me?” You leaned forward, arms resting on the table now, searching his face.

Your brother pressed his lips together, then leaned back in his chair.

“I guess,” he said softly, “you’ll have to go to find out.”

You said goodbye to your brother at your monthly meeting with a tight hug and a vague promise that you would think about it. The promise you gave Jonathan was a lie, and you both knew it.

In truth, you didn’t want to think about anything at all.

The moment you turned the key in your apartment door, you gave yourself exactly five seconds before reality came crashing down.

Your breathing fractured into sharp, jagged gasps. You dropped your keys onto the ceramic plate by the door with a jarring clatter, barely making it to the bed before your knees gave out. You collapsed, the weight of the last two years finally crushing you into the mattress. Muffled, ugly sobs filled the small loft.

Steve was getting married.

He was really, truly, finally belongs-to-someone-else getting married.

In that godforsaken town, amidst the rot and the shadows, you had known with a terrifying, bone-deep certainty that he was your epic love. The kind of love that didn't just happen, it forged you.

And there were so many proofs of it.

The evidence was written in the scars on your soul. It was the way he had clawed the Upside Down apart to find you when Vecna used you as bait. It was the way he had cried—shame-faced, gut-wrenching sobs—when the Russians beat you bloody, his voice breaking as he begged them to stop, offering his own life like it was nothing if they’d just leave you alone. It was the way the Mind Flayer had nearly snapped you in two, and Steve had been the only thing standing between you and death.

Every single time, he saved you.

Pretending you were over him was a full-time job, and you were exhausted. Even after the breakup, the one you initiated because you were so terrified of seeing him die that you thought letting him go was a preemptive strike against grief, he had still looked at you with that same, open devotion. Anyone with eyes could see it.

He still loved you. He was just waiting for you to come home.

And you never did.

The phone rang, vintage trill slicing through your breakdown.

You wiped your face with the back of your hand and forced yourself upright, legs heavy as you crossed the room. When you lifted the receiver, you cleared your throat, coughing softly to disguise the damage.

“Hello?”

“Hey, babes. It’s Robin.”

"Hi, Robs."

Despite the hollow ache in your chest, a ghost of a smile touched your lips. Robin was the one constant you’d kept. Even after leaving for Smith, she’d written letters, sent photos, treating distance like a minor inconvenience she refused to acknowledge.

“Jesus,” she said immediately. “Are you sick? Your voice sounds terrible.”

A chill ran down your spine. “No. I mean... I don’t think so.”

“Well… okay.” She hesitated for a fraction of a second, then barreled on with characteristic Robin-velocity. “I just got back from my last class, and I really wanted to talk to you about something.” She put an unmistakable, heavy emphasis on the word really.

“I’m listening, Robs.”

“Okay. Right.” A pause. “Steve’s getting married, right? So I was thinking it might be nice if we—you, me, Nancy and Jonathan—stayed in Hawkins for a bit. You know. For old times’ sake.”

You held your breath, then let it out slowly as your forehead pressed against the worn wallpaper. 

“Oh my God,” Robin said, her voice dropping an octave. “You know about the wedding, don’t you?”

“Yes, Robs. I know he’s getting married.”

He. Never Steve. Never your Steve.

“Okay. Okay. Is this weird? Because if it is, I can just—”

“No, it’s not weird,” you interrupted, rubbing your temple. “Jonathan’s already on my case about it, and now you… I just—I don’t know if I’m going, okay?”

“Have you completely lost your beautiful mind?” Robin nearly shouted.

“My ear, Robin—Jeez!”

“Sorry! Sorry!” she rushed out, though her intensity didn't dim. “But what? Why? You have to go. It’s the end of an era! The hair-spray king is retiring!”

“I don’t think it’s the right choice. For anyone.”

“But it’s us,” she insisted, her voice softening into something more vulnerable. “The team isn’t complete without you. It’s just… it's wrong if you aren't there.”

“I get that, but—”

“Nope. Not hearing it,” Robin cut in, regaining her momentum. “I refuse to take no for an answer. I will literally drive to Manhattan and drag you across state lines in a trunk if I have to. And besides,” she added, her voice dropping to a low, dangerous whisper, “maybe this is exactly what you need.”

You shook your head, even though she couldn’t see it. “Robin, I—”

“I have to go, my roommate is glaring at me! We’ll talk soon! Love you, bye!”

The line went dead.

You stood there with the receiver still pressed to your ear, listening to the hollow silence where her voice had been, knowing, deep down, that Hawkins was already pulling you back.

Hawkins wasn't just a town. It was a gravity well. And it was already pulling you back into its orbit.

Steve was alone in the kitchen when the phone rang.

Late afternoon light slanted through the window, catching on the edges of stacked envelopes and carefully labeled folders spread across the counter. Place cards, seating charts, RSVP lists. His fiancée had an eye for details, Steve had learned to appreciate that. Order made things easier.

He wiped his hands on a dish towel, a domestic gesture that still felt slightly alien, and picked up the receiver.

“Hey, Buckley.”

“Wow. Straight to the last name. Formal groom energy already?” Robin said, breathless in that way that meant she’d been walking fast or thinking faster.

Steve huffed a soft laugh. “If you start making jokes about tuxedos, I’m hanging up, Robs. I mean it”

“Relax. I’m calling from a very non-tuxedo environment.” A pause. “You busy?”

He glanced at the counter, at the future he was meticulously planning. “Define busy.”

“Mentally busy.”

That made him hesitate. He shifted his weight, leaning his hip back against the counter, the cool stone pressing through his jeans. “Okay. Hit me.”

Robin exhaled. He could almost picture her pacing, pushing her hair back, winding the phone cord around her finger.

“So. I talked to her.”

The words landed quietly. No thunder, no crash.

Still, something in his chest went tight.

He closed his eyes for half a second before opening them again. “And?”

“She knows about the wedding.”

“Yeah, no way. I invited her, Robs.”

Another pause. Longer this time.

“She might come, Steve.”

For a moment, the room felt too small.

It wasn’t panic that hit him, or even fear. It was memory, keen and unwelcome. Your laugh in the middle of chaos. The weight of your hand in his when everything else was falling apart. The way loving you had felt like standing in a burning building and deciding to stay anyway.

He forced himself to breathe.

“That’s—okay,” he said, the words careful, measured. “That makes sense.”

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” he said immediately. Too immediately. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Robin didn’t buy it. She never did. “You don’t have to do the whole cool guy thing with me.”

“I’m not.” He grabbed a stack of place cards and squared them against the counter, grounding himself in the motion. “I’m getting married, Rob. It’s fine.”

But not wholly.

Because he had spent two years learning how not to picture you in rooms he was trying to move on in. Because he had trained himself to think of you in past tense, like a chapter he survived instead of a story that kept going without his permission.

He loved his fiancée. Maybe not in the catastrophic, end-of-the-world way he had loved you but in a steadier way. A kinder way. One that didn’t involve blood or loss or learning how to say goodbye in the middle of a war.

The idea of seeing you again, the sound of your voice, the way you looked at him like you knew him, really knew him, made his chest ache in a way he thought he’d outgrown.

Robin’s voice softened. “I just thought you should know.”

“Thanks,” he said. The word came out heavier than he expected.

A beat passed.

After a moment, he cleared his throat. “She doesn’t… hate me, does she?”

Robin softened. “Steve. You know she couldn't.”

That was enough to answer. He nodded, even though she couldn’t see it.

“I hope she comes,” he said finally.

Robin blinked on the other end. “You do?”

“Yeah.” He rubbed the back of his neck, his fingers catching on the hair there. “I want her to see that I’m okay. That I made it.”

And maybe, though he didn’t say it, that choosing someone else hadn’t meant erasing what they were.

Because it hadn’t.

After they hung up, Steve stood there for a long moment, the house quiet around him. He picked up a place card at random, read a name that belonged to a future he was building carefully, purposely.

Then he set it back down and stared at the empty space beside it, where another name might have been, in another life.

Breathing the air of Hawkins again felt like filling your lungs with fire and ash. After Robin’s call, the idea of attending the wedding refused to leave you alone, lingering at the edges of your thoughts no matter how hard you tried to push it away.

There was something deeply nostalgic about returning to the place where you were born, where you grew up, where so much of your life had taken shape. The feeling was unsettling, sharp and aching, but threaded with a strange sweetness that left your eyes burning with unshed tears.

A few days later, after a long call with Jonathan, you decided it was time. Time to come back. Time to face it. Time to put an end to whatever unfinished thing Hawkins still had its hands wrapped around.

The town looked exactly the same. Bright sunlight. People laughing on the sidewalks. Tourists stopping at the memorial, snapping photos as if the horrors of the past had been carefully packaged into something consumable, something distant enough to be harmless.

You pressed your tongue against the inside of your cheek and watched the streets pass by. Everything felt familiar and foreign all at once.

Maybe Hawkins hadn’t changed at all. Maybe you had. The town seemed frozen in time, its darker history sealed away, known only by the small group of people who had survived it and sworn to carry the truth quietly for the rest of their lives. The unfairness of it settled heavy in your chest.

You held the tears back until Jonathan pulled the rental car to a stop in front of your old house. The sight of it hit you harder than you expected, a dull, excruciating ache spreading through your ribs.

“Hey,” Jonathan called from outside. “You coming?”

“Yeah,” you replied, forcing steadiness into your voice. “I’m coming.”

You followed him inside. The house was empty, but it didn’t feel abandoned. Everything looked the same, as if your mother might walk in at any moment. Joyce was living with Hopper now, finally allowing herself a life that didn’t revolve around fear and loss. Will was away at college, which meant the house existed in this strange in-between state, reserved for moments like this, when nostalgia took over.

You set your bag down and leaned against the doorframe while Jonathan carried the suitcases into the bedroom.

“We should meet the others at the bar around six,” he said.

You tilted your head. “You nervous?”

He didn’t look at you, just kept unpacking. “I don’t have any reason to be.”

“Oh, really?” You crossed your arms, a knowing smile tugging at your lips. Jonathan had never been a good liar, and growing up with him made it impossible for him to fool you. “So if Nancy doesn’t show up, you’re totally fine with that?”

“She’ll be there,” he said easily.

“And how do you know?”

He straightened, snapping his suitcase shut. “Because it’s Nancy,” he replied, like that explained everything. “Is that okay with you?”

You pressed your lips together and nodded, biting back a comment, letting the silence stretch for a few seconds.

“Okay,” you said finally. “Just so you know, the shower's mine.”

Jonathan barely had time to register what you’d said before you grabbed a towel and sprinted down the hall, locking the bathroom door behind you. He followed instinctively, too slow, stopping short as laughter echoed off the walls. A soft knock tapped against the door, and you could hear him smiling on the other side.

It felt just like old times.

The bar hadn’t changed much.

Same low ceiling, same sticky floors, same neon signs buzzing like they were one bad night away from giving up entirely. Someone had painted over the old water damage, but you could still see the outline if you knew where to look. Hawkins loved pretending things were fixed.

You had been here before, years ago, back when sneaking into places like this felt thrilling. Once because it felt grown-up, rebellious, like borrowing a future that wasn’t meant to be yours yet. Once because Steve Harrington had chosen this place for a date, sliding into a booth with boyish confidence, making the cracked vinyl and warm beer feel romantic simply by sitting across from you. Back then, the bar had seemed softer.

Jonathan ordered first. You followed, mostly out of habit, and then stood off to the side while he waited for the drinks. The place was busy for a weekday evening, locals unwinding, a few college kids passing through, laughter spilling over the music.

You scanned the room without really meaning to.

“Don’t,” Jonathan said quietly.

You blinked. “Don’t what?”

“Look for him.” He handed you a glass. “He’ll show up when he shows up.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes as you took a sip. “You’re so annoying. I’m not doing that.”

Jonathan smiled despite himself, the corner of his mouth giving him away. “Yeah,” he said gently. “You are.”

Robin arrived like a sudden change in weather, all motion and warmth, dropping into the seat beside you as if the years apart were nothing more than a long weekend. She looked incredible, hair loose around her shoulders, a soft white lace blouse peeking out from beneath her denim overalls, familiar and new all at once.

“Okay, wow,” she said, looking between you and Jonathan. “Seeing you two here feels illegal. Like we’re about to summon something.”

You laughed despite yourself, tension easing just a fraction. Robin wrapped you in a hug without warning, squeezing tight.

“You’re real,” she said into your shoulder. “I was worried you were just a stress hallucination.”

“I missed you too, Robs,” you murmured, meaning it more than you were ready to admit.

She pulled back just enough to study your face, her eyes sharp and uncomfortably perceptive. “You okay?”

“Sure,” you said.

“Great,” she replied, unconvinced but kind enough not to push. “Did you order yet?”

Nancy arrived a few minutes later.

You noticed Jonathan before you noticed her, the way he straightened, the way his shoulders went tense and still, like his body had recognized her before his brain caught up. When you turned, she was already there, standing just inside the doorway, eyes adjusting to the dim light.

She looked older. Just sharper, more sure of herself. Like someone who had learned how to walk into rooms and expect to be heard.

Jonathan stood first. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Nancy said softly.

They hugged, brief and careful, the kind of embrace that acknowledged history without reopening it. You watched closely, surprised by the calm of it. The acceptance.

Nancy smiled when she saw you. “It’s really good to see you. You look great.”

“You too,” you said, and meant it.

The five of you settled into a booth near the back. Conversation came easily at first, college stories, mutual acquaintances, Robin’s latest rant about academia, Jonathan’s short film. You laughed while you drank. You almost forgot why your chest felt so tight.

Almost. Then the door opened.

You didn’t look right away. Neither did Jonathan. Robin noticed first, she always did, and went still mid-sentence, her eyes flicking toward the entrance before darting back to you.

“Oh,” she said. “Okay. So. He’s here.”

Your heart stuttered.

Steve Harrington walked in like the place had been waiting for him.

He looked good in that unfair, effortless way, hair a little shorter, shoulders broader, posture calmer. He wore a jacket you didn’t recognize, one hand shoved into his pocket as he scanned the room. There was a steadiness to him now, something grounded and adult, but his eyes still searched the way they always had.

Like he was counting exits. Or people.

His gaze landed on Jonathan first. Recognition flickered. Relief, maybe. Then Robin, who lifted a hand in an overly enthusiastic, unmistakably Robin wave.

And then he saw you.

For a second, he didn’t move. Neither did you.

The noise of the bar faded into something distant, muffled, like you were underwater. His face changed in the smallest way, something tightening around his eyes, something careful settling over his mouth.

Then he smiled. It was controlled-polite. Not the smile you remembered.

Steve walked over, stopping just short of the table. “Hey.”

“Hey, man,” Jonathan said.

Robin stood immediately, as if she might combust if she didn’t. “Steve! Hi. You made it. Wow. Look at you. Very… groom-y.”

Steve huffed a quiet laugh. “Is that a thing?”

Nancy stood next, offering him a warm, familiar smile. “It’s good to see you, Steve.”

“You too,” he said easily.

Then his eyes came back to you.

“Hi,” he said.

Your throat tightened. “Hi.”

It was just a word. One syllable. And somehow it carried every version of you that had ever existed together.

He pulled out the empty seat at the edge of the booth, hesitated for half a second, then sat. Close enough to feel his presence. Far enough to breathe.

Conversation resumed, but it was different now, careful, aware. Steve listened more than he spoke, his arm resting along the back of the booth, his knee angled just slightly toward yours without touching.

You didn’t look at him again. You didn’t trust yourself to.

But you could feel him there, solid and real and painfully familiar, like a scar you’d learned to live with suddenly aching again.

Hawkins hadn’t changed.

Neither, it seemed, had the things that mattered most.

More drinks arrived, heavy mugs sweating onto the table, the sharp smell of beer cutting through the warmth that had settled between you all. Someone, probably Robin, pushed them into a loose circle, like it mattered that no one was left out.

“We should make a toast,” Robin said, already lifting her mug, eyes bright with something between nostalgia and defiance.

“I agree,” Steve added easily, raising his own. His voice was steady. 

You exchanged looks around the table. Five people bound together by things no one else in the room would ever fully understand. There were soft smiles, the kind born from survival rather than happiness, from having seen each other at their worst and still choosing to sit down together anyway.

“To the future,” Nancy said, lifting her mug with quiet certainty.

“To the good ol’ days,” Jonathan followed, raising his free hand.

His eyes flicked briefly to Nancy before he looked away again, a faint smile tugging at his mouth like an old habit he hadn’t quite unlearned.

“To us,” you said then, your voice calm even as your chest tightened, lifting your mug to meet the others.

For a second, Steve watched you when you weren’t looking, his brow drawn together like the sight of you hurt in a way he hadn’t prepared for. You looked like a memory that had learned how to breathe. Like he was eighteen again, standing in a hallway, staring at a future he hadn’t known he’d lose.

Then you looked up.

Your eyes met his, and something unspoken passed between you, recognition, regret, a shared understanding that didn’t need words. You offered him a small smile, soft and sympathetic, not asking for anything, not accusing him of anything either.

“To love,” Robin said suddenly, her voice rough but bright, stubbornly hopeful.

Steve swallowed and nodded.

“To love,” you echoed.

“To love,” the others repeated, and the mugs met in a quiet clink before you all drank at once.

You had forgotten how effortless it was to be with them. How laughter didn’t need to be coaxed out of you or softened first, how it simply rose, unguarded, from somewhere deep in your chest, surprising you with its ease. For the first time since arriving in Hawkins, your shoulders weren’t tight. Your breath came normally. You almost felt like yourself again.

Hours slipped by unnoticed. Empty glasses multiplied on the table, and the sharp edges of the evening dulled into something warm and familiar. Steve relaxed into the space between you all, his posture loosening, his voice growing more animated. You did too, catching yourself leaning closer when he spoke, answering him without thinking, forgetting, just for moments at a time, everything you were supposed to remember.

At some point, Steve looked around the table with that expression you knew far too well. Eyebrows lifting slightly, eyes brightening with the thrill of an idea that had just taken hold.

“I have a perfect place for us to go.”

“Where?” Nancy asked, smiling in that careful, contained way of hers, curiosity softening her features.

“You’ll see.”

He didn’t elaborate. He just stood and waited, confident you’d follow. A short walk later, you were climbing the stairs of the Squawk building. At the top, Steve lingered behind the others and offered you his hand, casual, almost shy.

“Thanks,” you said softly, taking it.

By the time you reached the top, night had fully settled over Hawkins. It was past nine, the air cold enough to sting your lungs, breath blooming white when you laughed. Robin’s voice carried loudest, her laughter slicing through the quiet as Steve finished telling a story about one of his students, something ridiculous and endearing.

“Sex ed,” Robin wheezed. “I still can’t believe that’s your life, dude.”

“Hey,” Steve protested, grinning. “I’m shaping young minds.”

You watched him as he spoke, the way he gestured with his hands, the way his face lit up when he talked about coaching, about teaching. You remembered the nights he’d confessed his fear of being trapped in his father’s shadow, of never being more than a version of someone else’s expectations.

Seeing him now, steady, fulfilled, made your chest ache in a quiet, complicated way.

You were proud of him.

“Okay, but be honest,” Steve said suddenly, standing and moving closer to the edge. The cold wrapped around him, his breath visible as he spoke. “Don’t you guys miss this? The view? The movies, the late nights, the stupid stuff? I don’t know—everything?”

You looked out over Hawkins. The rooftops. The dim streetlights. A town frozen in time whether it wanted to be or not.

You glanced at Nancy. At Jonathan. At Robin.

Then back at Steve.

“No,” you all said at once.

The laughter that followed was loud, honest, almost cathartic, echoing into the night, carrying with it the relief of knowing that some places are meant to be remembered, not returned to.

Steve tipped his beer back and shook his head, half-smiling at nothing in particular.

“I don’t know. There’s something about this town, man.” He took another sip. “But honestly? I like teaching these kids.”

You hummed. “Why do I get the feeling you go easy on all of them?”

“I have a strict A policy,” he said casually. “B, if you’re a real knucklehead. That’s about the low as I go.”

Jonathan laughed. “Hey, can you come teach at NYU?”

That did it, you laughed too, the sound slipping out before you could stop it.

“What, you want me to grade your weird film about capitalism or cannibalism or whatever?” Steve teased.

Jonathan groaned and launched into an explanation—again—gesturing wildly as he clarified the plot for what had to be the third time. You listened with half an ear, smiling.

When he finally finished, Nancy turned to you. “So,” she asked gently, “how’s New York treating you?”

You inhaled and shared a quick look with Jonathan, something wordless passing between you.

“It’s… different,” you said, tracing the rim of your red plastic cup with your finger. “The city never sleeps. I work, I study, I’m always running somewhere. But it’s good. I like it.”

Robin chimed in about Smith, animated as always, talking about classes and plans and how badly she wanted to transfer. Then Nancy surprised everyone by admitting she’d dropped out and taken a trainee position at the Herald.

“Hey, Robin,” Nancy said suddenly. “Total coincidence, but do you still have the key to the Squawk?”

Robin’s smile turned slow and mischievous as she reached into her pocket. “Nancy Wheeler, today is your lucky day.”

“Thank God,” Nancy said, already standing. “I really need a bathroom.”

Jonathan stood too, finishing his drink in one go. “Yeah. Same. Too much beer.”

Robin glanced at you and Steve. “Anyone else?”

You shook your head, and a moment later the three of them disappeared down the stairs, their voices fading.

You became acutely aware of the silence.

The cool Hawkins breeze brushed against your skin. Even with your eyes closed, you could feel it—Steve’s presence beside you, steady and close. And you didn’t have to look to know he was watching you.

Steve shifted beside you, resting his forearms on the low ledge. He stared out at the view, jaw tight, like he was bracing himself for something.

“So,” he said eventually, voice easy but not careless. “New York, huh?.”

You smiled faintly. “Yeah.”

“Figures.” He nodded once, as if that confirmed a theory he’d carried for years. “Good for you, Byers.”

You didn’t argue. There was no point. Instead, you leaned forward too, close enough that your shoulders almost touched.

“It’s weird being back,” you admitted. “Everything looks the same, but… smaller. Does that make sense?”

Steve huffed out a quiet laugh. “That’s Hawkins. Tries to trap you in time.” He glanced at you, just for a second. “Guess it didn’t work on you.”

Something in his tone softened the words, took the edge off them. You looked at him then, really looked, at the familiar slope of his nose, the faint line between his brows, the way his hair refused to behave no matter how old he got.

“Well, you stayed,” you said gently.

“Someone had to,” he replied, half-joking. “Plus, I’m kind of bad at leaving things behind.”

The words lingered between you, heavier than he probably meant them to be. Steve cleared his throat and straightened, hands slipping into his jacket pockets.

“I’m glad you came,” he added, quieter now. “Didn’t think you would.”

You swallowed. “I didn’t either.”

Below you, Hawkins breathed on, unaware of how much history stood on that rooftop. Steve glanced at you again, this time holding your gaze a second longer.

“Still,” he said, offering a small, crooked smile, “it’s good to see you.”

You returned it, soft and aching.

“Yeah,” you said. “It really is.”

Steve shifted his weight, the tip of his shoe scraping against the concrete with a rhythmic, nervous grit. He didn't look at you right away. He kept his eyes fixed on the horizon, as if searching for something that wasn't there.

“You look... good,” he said finally. 

You let out a breath you felt like you’d been holding since the Indiana state line. “You too.”

He nodded, accepting the compliment like a heavy gift, then a small, bitter frown tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I didn't always think it would be like this. For either of us.”

You leaned forward, resting your elbows on the cold railing, feeling the chill seep through the fabric of your jacket. Below, the town looked so normal, so infuriatingly mundane.

“I still wake up sometimes,” you admitted, your voice barely a whisper. “Thinking something bad is going to happen. Like the world’s about to split open again.”

Steve went very still.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice rough. “For a long time... I kept the bat next to my bed. I'm not kidding. Right there on the nightstand.” He let out a short, self-deprecating huff. "It's stupid. I know."

“No,” you said immediately, turning your head to look at him. “It’s really not.”

That earned you a brief, unguarded look. It was the expression he used to give you in the backseat of his car after a fight—when the adrenaline had evaporated and the reality of being alive finally settled in. It was raw and terrifyingly intimate.

“I thought moving on would be louder,” he continued, voice low. “Like there’d be some big moment where everything finally felt… over.” He shrugged. “Turns out it’s just quiet. And you’re left with it.”

“With everything,” you added.

“Yeah.”

The wind picked up, tugging at your hair. Steve reached out without thinking, steadying it, then stopped himself halfway, hand hovering awkwardly in the air before dropping back to his side. The almost-touch lingered longer than the wind.

“So,” you said, forcing a wide, brittle smile that felt like it might crack your face. “Marriage, huh?”

 “Oh. God.” A nervous, breathless laugh escaped him. “Yeah."

“I’m happy for you, Steve.” It was the truth, but it was a truth that tasted like ash. You wanted him to be safe. You wanted him to be loved. You just hadn't realized how much it would hurt to watch someone else do it.

“I know,” he said. “I mean—yeah,” He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “Kristen s’great.”

“That sounds great, Steve,” you said, your voice thick with the effort of holding back a sob that felt like a physical weight in your throat.

“Yeah” He looked out at the town. At the place that had once belonged to the two of you, and only you. “It is. It really is.”

He said it one more time, as if he were trying to convince the silence.

Two days later, the morning was quiet in a way that felt borrowed.

Sunlight slipped through the thin curtains of the kitchen, catching dust in the air and warming the chipped counter where you and Jonathan sat. The house smelled like toast and weak coffee. Jonathan was halfway through his second slice, reading something folded and creased.

You were spreading jam when the phone rang.

Jonathan glanced at it, then at you. That was odd.

You shook your head and reached for the receiver. “Hello?”

“Okay, don’t freak out,” Robin said immediately, words tumbling over each other. “But also—maybe freak out a little.”

Your stomach tightened. “Robin. What’s going on?”

You could hear her breathing, uneven, like she’d been pacing.

“Do you… have any idea where Steve is?”

You frowned, instinctively looking at Jonathan. “What? No. Why would I—”

“Because,” she cut in, then stopped herself. “Because he didn’t show up.”

The room seemed to tilt, just slightly.

“Didn’t show up where?” you asked, already knowing you wouldn’t like the answer.

Robin swallowed on the other end. “Today. The wedding day. He’s not at the house. He’s not anywhere.”

“Robin,” you said carefully, “what are you saying?”

“I’m saying his wife called me,” she replied, voice thinner now. “Crying. She woke up this morning and Steve was gone. No note. No explanation. Just—gone.”

Your fingers tightened around the receiver.

“That’s not like him,” you said, more to himself than to either of you.

“I know,” Robin said. “That’s why I’m calling you. I don’t know why, I just—” She exhaled sharply. “Did he say anything? Anything at all?”

You stared at the table, at the faint ring a mug had left behind, at the normalcy of it all. The memory of the rooftop pressed in on your chest.

“No,” you said. “He didn’t.”

“Okay,” Robin said finally, trying to steady herself. “Okay. I just—I don't know, had to ask.”

You closed your eyes.

“Keep me posted,” you said. “Please.”

“I will.” Her voice softened. “Thank you, babes. See you later.”

The line went dead. You lowered the phone slowly. Jonathan watched you, concern etched into every line of his face.

“He disappeared,” you said. “On his wedding day.”

The silence that followed felt too big for the kitchen, too heavy for the morning light.

Steve Harrington didn’t vanish. He always stayed. He showed up bloody, terrified, exhausted, still there. He was the one who stood between danger and everyone else without asking if anyone would do the same for him. The one who carried guilt like a second spine and kindness like muscle memory.

This wasn’t like him.

"Gimme the car keys."

Jonathan nearly choked on his lukewarm coffee. He stared at you over the rim of his mug, eyes wide. "What?"

You didn't wait for an explanation. You grabbed your coat, shoving your arms into the sleeves. "Jonathan, the keys! Now!"

He scrambled, digging into his pocket and tossing the ring toward you. You caught it mid-air, the metal cold against your palm.

"What—Where are you going?" he called out, his voice laced with that familiar, protective dread.

"I'm going to look for Steve. What else am I supposed to do?" You didn't wait for his answer. You slammed the door, the sound echoing like a gunshot in the hallway.

"Jesus Christ, Harrington," you hissed under your breath as you hit the pavement. "You don't even give me a break on your own wedding day."

Hawkins was slowly waking up, the town bathed in a soft, buttery dawn that felt far too peaceful for the storm in your chest. Heaven played softly on the radio, but all you could see was the way he used to look at you on this very roof. Those big, tender, bambi eyes that always seemed to be asking for a permission you weren't sure you could give.

You wanted to slam your head against the steering wheel, to turn the car around and drive until the Indiana state line was a blur in the rearview mirror.

After two laps around downtown, the school, and every old haunt you could remember, hope was beginning to fray. Steve was gone, and the thought of Kristen—probably a vibrating nerve ending of a person right now—made the guilt churn in your stomach.

Then, something clicked. A memory of a high vantage point and a quiet place to hide.

The trees around the Squawk building danced slowly in the cool morning breeze. You spotted his car before you even put the car in park.

"I swear I’m going to kill that idiot," you muttered, throwing the door open. It was only as you started running toward the building, your hair whipping into your mouth, that you realized you were standing in public in an oversized, faded Bowie t-shirt and pajama pants.

Screw it, you thought. The world already ended once. Who cares about pants?

You climbed the steps, one by one, your hands aching from the bite of the cold metal railing.

Steve was there. He was standing near the edge, a silhouette of silver and gray. He was already wearing his wedding suit, the tailoring sharp, his hair perfectly combed into place. He looked like the picture-perfect groom from a magazine, but he was standing on the edge of a roof instead of an altar. He had his back to you, looking out at the horizon.

You stopped halfway across the roof, your chest heaving, a hot, prickly anger rising to meet your exhaustion.

"Did you know it’s not very polite to run away without leaving a note?" you shouted, your voice cracking the morning quiet. "Especially on your wedding day?"

You saw his shoulders hitch, a small, tired shrug, but he didn't turn around.

"What are you doing here? Everyone’s looking for you," you said, closing the distance.

He lowered his head, then looked back at the skyline. A spark of sharp nostalgia and deep-seated melancholy ran across his face. "I needed some air."

"Bullshit."

"Christ—," he snapped, finally turning his head just enough to give you a profile of his jaw. "Will you just stop for a second and let me think?"

You recoiled, genuinely stung by the bite in his tone. "Oh. I’m sorry. Sorry for being so inconvenient. Sorry for actually giving a damn about a friend."

Steve let out a short, humorless laugh that sounded more like a bark. "Right. Friend."

The word felt like a slur. He turned fully now, his pupils dilated, his brow furrowed in a way that made him look less like a groom and more like a soldier.

"Don't do this," you warned, your voice trembling. "Don't make this about me. This is about you. About your marriage, about your li—"

"Sure. Right, right." Steve poked his cheek with his tongue, a defiant, old-Harrington gesture. He put his hands on his hips, his suit jacket flaring out. "How about you just—I don't know, run away again? Isn’t that your specialty?"

You felt the words like a physical punch to the gut. You flinched, your irises trembling. Steve’s eyes were rimmed with red, he’d been crying, or trying not to, and the sight of it made the anger drain out of you.

"What the hell do you want from me, Steve? Huh?" Your voice rose, desperate and raw. "You said it was okay for me to be here! You invited me!"

"Well, yeah," he stepped closer, his shadow falling over you. "That was a lie."

Your eyes widened.

"And what am I supposed to do with that?" you cried. "You disappear on your wedding day and start dumping all this bullshit on me! This is not fair!"

Steve pressed his lips together and looked up at the sky, blinking like he was trying to outrun something. It didn’t work. Tears gathered anyway.

Seeing him like this—actually breaking—hit you harder than you expected.

“My God,” he muttered, voice rough. He shut his eyes, dragging a hand down his face. “What am I doing?” He laughed once, hollow. “Is this a mistake?”

The wind swallowed the rest of his words, but you heard them anyway.

“Tell me it wasn’t wrong,” he said quietly. “Tell me letting you go was the right thing.”

Your heart felt like it was being squeezed by a cold hand. You looked at his mouth, then back to his eyes. 

"I can't give you permission to leave me behind, Steve," you said, your voice trembling. "I'm still trying to find a way out myself—"

Steve swallowed the lump in his throat and looked at you. There was a wealth of exposure there, you were finally seeing him naked. He closed the space between you and took your hand, his fingers sliding across your skin, caressing every inch as if there was a hunger inside him that knew you inside and out.

He traced your wrist, then gently held it. “I would leave it all behind.”

“St—Steve, you’re getting married in five hours,” you stammered, the reality of the clock ticking in the back of your mind.

“There’s no wedding.” He let out a short, wet chuckle, sniffing as he looked at you.

“Steve, you moved on, you—What?” Your eyes widened, your brain struggling to process the words.

“I canceled everything. Yesterday. I—I can’t do this. I told her I couldn't.”

A cold wave of despair and shock washed over you, your throat suddenly as dry as a desert. “You—what? Steve, what did you do?”

“You think I moved on? That’s bullshit. That’s the biggest lie I’ve ever told. Every time I close my eyes, I’m losing you. Again. And again. Every single night is a different version of you leaving me behind.”

“Please don’t do this—" You let out a shaky sigh, reaching for him, but your hand faltered halfway.

He didn't let it fall. He caught your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours, his grip firm and bruisingly honest.

“No, shit—listen to me," His voice dropped to that desperate, urgent tone that always made you follow him into the dark. “I wake up reaching for you. I turn over in bed to tell you something, and I realize I’m in a house you’ve never been to, next to a woman who doesn’t know me. Not really.”

He let out a trembling sigh, his gaze searching yours with a terrifying, soul-baring intensity.

“I love Kristen. She is… she is safe. She is peace. But she isn’t everything. She isn’t the person I want to fight for. She isn’t the person I would die for.” He reached out, his fingers brushing the hem of your faded Bowie shirt, his knuckles grazing your skin. "I thought if I did the 'normal' thing, the 'adult' thing, this feeling would eventually pass. But it only got stronger. It’s like a rot, but it’s the only part of me that really feels alive."

Tears blurred your vision until the world was just a smear of gray and gold.

"Steve, you have guests arriving. A lifetime awaits you at the altar," you said, even though your heart begged you to stop.

"I don't care," he said. A glimpse of the old, reckless Steve Harrington flashed in his eyes. He moved even closer, his forehead resting against yours. "I'm serious. If you tell me that there's still a part of you inside that—if you give me even a glimpse of a reason to believe there's still an 'us,' I'll give up everything.”

Your breath caught. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying," he swallowed hard, his voice trembling, "that if you say one word—just one word—I'll end the charade for good. I'll call the priest again, I'll tell the truth to whoever is left, and we can get in that car and leave. Together. Like old times.”

He looked at you then, pleading for you to save him from the life he’d built as a consolation prize.

"Just say it," he whispered, his hand closing around your wrist, pulling you so close you could feel the frantic heat of his body. "Please—babe—please. Say you want me to stay. Say you still love me. Gimme the word, and I'm yours. I've always been yours."

You looked into his teary eyes, your lips trembling, and finally, the dam broke. A sob escaped you—loud, ugly, and honest.

"I've always loved you." Thick, hot tears rolled down your cheeks. “I loved you for every second, every moment I thought I could just leave it behind. It never happened, Steve.”

He shook his head, a single tear rolling down his cheek and resting on his upper lip. He looked like he was finally able to breathe.

“You are the love of my life. Always have been. Always will be.” You closed your eyes, letting the tears fall freely. “There isn’t a life where I’m not completely in love with you.”

“Jeez—you’re killing me here.” Steve looked up at the sky and laughed through the tears, wiping his face with the back of his hand. It was a broken, beautiful sound.

You laughed too, sniffling, both of you a total mess of salt and windblown hair on a roof that had seen too much history.

“I want you to be happy, Steve. That’s all I ever wanted.”

“There’s only one way for that to happen, I guarantee you.” He pulled you back into his chest, his arms locking around you like armor.

The wind hummed around the building, carrying the morning song of birds and the soft sweep of leaves against the pavement below. The world was still there, and it was still complicated, but for the first time in two years, the air didn't feel like smoke.

“What do we do now?” you asked quietly. “They’re still looking for you.”

Steve took a deep breath, his chest expanding against yours. He shook his head slowly, a strange, calm clarity finally settling over his features.

“I don’t know. But I know one thing I need to do first.”

Your eyes glistened, fresh tears blurring the sight of him as you looked up. “What?”

“This.”

His gaze dropped to your lips, and the invitation was written in the way he breathed your name. Automatically, your body responded, your heels lifting as you stood on tiptoe. Steve’s hands slid down to your waist, pulling you flush against him, and you gripped the lapels of his wedding jacket. Your other hand found its way into his hair and your fingers tangled in the strands, undoing the carefully groomed layers until he looked like the boy you had loved in the woods.

The kiss was everything the last two years hadn't been.

It wasn't glamorous. It wasn't polite. It was a catastrophic-violent battle of lips and breath, a desperate, starving hunger that had been growing day by day since you’d left. He held you with a crushing strength, as if he were physically terrified that if he loosened his grip, you’d vanish back into the New York fog.

You squeezed him back, your palms memorizing the solid weight of his shoulders, your hands realizing they knew no other body but this one. You loved each other in a language that required no words, a dialect of shared scars and whispered promises in the dark.

As you closed your eyes, the memories didn't feel like ghosts anymore, they felt like a roadmap.

You saw him leaning against the lockers at Hawkins High School. You saw him standing on your porch in the sweltering summer of '85, looking ridiculous and beautiful with a bouquet of lilies in his hands. You felt his hand find yours in the dark of the movie theater, the palms sweaty and nervous. You tasted the salt of that first kiss in the backseat of his BMW. You felt the suffocating terror of the Upside Down, when he had held you so tightly you thought your ribs might crack because he truly believed the world was ending and you were dying.

And you felt that last, agonizing goodbye—the way he had kissed the single tear on your lip before pressing his mouth to your forehead and letting you walk away.

That was your Steve.

The boy with the golden heart hidden under layers of bravado. The man who had stayed behind to be the protector, the one who became a "weirdo" to save the world, deciphering codes and fighting demons while the rest of the town slept. He was sensitive to the bone, a unique soul that only a few were lucky enough to truly see.

He rested his forehead against yours, breathing you in like he needed proof you were real.

With the old, unglamorous town of Hawkins looming around you, with the bruised sky, the swaying trees, and the rising sun as your only audience, the old Squawk building stood as a silent witness to a truth that could no longer be denied.

He was yours. You were his.

As it should be. Forever.

[levanterhaze]

𝐧𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐬

pairing: steve harrington x hopper!reader summary: You've known about the prophecy since the day you were born. The curse of the older sister.  Ever since you and El were raised together in that sterile, white hell—shaped into weapons of war—you knew your life wasn't yours. Dying wasn’t brave. It wasn’t noble. It was simply the inevitable conclusion you had been walking toward since birth. wc: 3.7K warnings: mentions of violence, cursing, mention of y'know, since she choose to die, heartbreak and angst. if you don't feel comfortable reading this, even if it's a 'rewrite' scene from the tv show, please don't read and preserve yourself. a/n: I was obsessed with the idea of Steve taking Mike's place when El leaves. So, here it is. I think I cried a few times while writing it (help). I was inspired by Ethel Cain's Nettles and Purple Rain to write it.

To love me is to suffer me And I believe it.

The cacophony was absolute—a craggy wall of voices, the sharp clack of assault rifles being readied, and the guttural curses of men who had forgotten how to be human.

Steve was shoved forward, the momentum of the crowd carrying him along with Dustin, Mike, and Robin. He caught a glimpse of Robin’s hands, bound tight enough to turn her fingers white, before a soldier’s gloved hand slammed into the back of his neck.

His face was crushed against the cold metal of the transport truck. The smell of oil and old blood filled his nostrils. He couldn't breathe. Every gasp was a battle, his lungs struggling against the weight of a man twice his size pinning him down.

The problem was, he couldn't find you anywhere.

“Hey—hey,” He grimaced, a sharp, sickening pop echoing in his ears as his zygomatic bone groaned under the pressure against the metal panel. “Have you seen her?”

Dustin twisted his head as far as the restraints allowed, face pale but steady. 

“She was with El, they must've escaped.”

The relief hit Steve like a physical wave. Good. That was more than good, it was the only thing that mattered. If the plan had worked—if the girl he loved was somewhere safe, somewhere far away from the screaming and the cold steel—then he could endure whatever was coming.

So a small, genuine smile blossomed on Steve's lips. It lasted only a second, because when he looked up, the smile died where it was born.

Where the sky had torn itself open, where the portal to the Upside Down bled a bruised, pulsating violet into the world, he saw you.

You weren't running. You were standing at the threshold, your silhouette framed by the apocalypse, your eyes fixed on the military line with a gaze so deadly it looked like it belonged to a different person.

“No… no, no, no—” Steve’s voice rose from a whimper to a raw, jagged roar. The realization settled in his gut like lead: you had stayed.

You were going to fight a war you couldn't win.

With a strength that shouldn't have existed in his broken, battered frame, Steve threw his head back. He felt the icky thud of his skull connecting with the soldier’s chin. He didn't wait for the man to fall. Two other guards lunged for him, their hands like iron claws on his sleeves, but something had snapped inside him. It wasn't bravery anymore, it was an animalistic, primal instinct.

“Steve!” Robin’s scream was high and thin, a desperate warning as a soldier leveled the butt of a rifle.

Steve didn't hear her. He stumbled, his legs heavy and uncoordinated, and when he finally fell to his knees, he didn't hit the pavement. Cold water splashed against his skin. He realized then, he was in your mind.

You walked quickly toward him and he got up, running to you.

“What the hell are you doing?” His voice broke on the words. “Please—please don’t do this.”

His hands gripped your shoulders, his fingers digging into the fabric of your jacket as if the sheer force of his touch could tether you to the earth.

He was shaking. There were tears welling up in his eyes, and despite everything, it was his broken expression that haunted you the most.

“Steve,” you whispered, swallowing the thick knot of grief in your throat. You looked into those deer-like eyes, your own vision blurring as the first hot tears spilled over. “You need to listen to me. We don’t have much time.”

He was hyperventilating, his chest heaving under his bruised ribs. His eyes searched yours, begging for a lie, begging for a misunderstanding he could desperately fix.

“What? No—no, whatever you’re thinking, we’ll find another way. We always find another way.”

“I need you to understand my decision.”

“No. No. I don't—Please.”

You kept going because stopping would mean breaking. “I need you to tell the others the truth. Tell Hop that Jane's safe. I need you to tell them—” Your voice faltered. You forced it steady. “Tell them how grateful I am. For being so kind to me. For loving me.”

Tears slid freely down your cheeks. Steve lifted his hand without thinking, brushing them away with his thumb like he always did, like it was a reflex built into him. He was crying too, silent and helpless, but still trying to take care of you. He always would put you first.

“You don’t have to do this,” he said, pleading now, like if he said it enough times, reality might listen.

“I do. Steve, this will never ends. El will be hunted for the rest of her life. She’s just a kid. She deserves a chance to grow up without blood on her hands.”

You caught his hands, pulling them from your face to hold them against your chest. His fingers were calloused, covered in the fresh scratches and deep purple bruises of the fight. They were the hands of a protector, and they were the only things you were going to miss.

He stared at you like you were speaking another language.

“What about you?” The question came out with a sharp edge of accusation, a jagged shard of resentment born from pure, unadulterated heartbreak. “Don’t you deserve to live? Don't I deserve for you to stay?”

You've known about the prophecy since the day you were born. The curse of the older sister.  Ever since you and El were raised together in that sterile, white hell—shaped into weapons of war—you knew your life wasn't yours. Dying wasn’t brave. It wasn’t noble. It was simply the inevitable conclusion you had been walking toward since birth.

You were the burden that was meant to be dropped so the light could keep shining.

And Steve—sweet, stubborn, endlessly kind Steve—was the only thing that had ever made you wish, just for a moment, that fate might be wrong.

But then Hopper found you and Jane together in that forest, clinging to each other like a second skin, desperate and afraid of what fate had planned. And that changed everything.

He had reached through the brush and pulled you into a life you were never supposed to have. He was resilient, jaggedly caring, and he tended to your wounds with a gentleness that felt like an assault on everything the lab had taught you. He fed you, gave you shelter, and advised you—doing all the things a father was supposed to do. A father you and Jane had only ever seen in child storybooks.

You had been reluctant at first, a wild thing trapped in a cabin. You ran away a dozen times because you were convinced that this life—the warm blankets, the Eggo waffles, the safety—was for Jane, not for you.

But Hopper had been immovable. He insisted, with a gruff, stubborn love, that you deserved that comfort too. It wasn't a luxurious life, but it was a life full of affection.

And what was supposed to be just a life for three became a big dysfunctional family, but one that you loved with every shattered piece of your heart.

Joyce, Jonathan, and Will. The family that went through hell on earth when little Byers was possessed and captured by darkness. There was Joyce, who taught you what it meant to be a woman, who brushed your hair with a mother’s tenderness and hugged you until the cold in your bones finally began to thaw. There was Jonathan, the quiet observer, who always stayed close enough to make sure you were alive.

The kids, who followed you like you were something out of a comic book. They made you feel brave when you were anything but. They welcomed Jane like she had always been theirs, and through them, you learned what friendship really was, unconditional, loud, forgiving.

Nancy showed you worlds hidden in books and taught you how to hold a gun without flinching. She kept your secret without ever asking for anything in return. Let you sleep in her basement when Hopper’s house became unbearable. Robin taught you sisterhood—real sisterhood. Movie nights, bad jokes, honesty without fear. She made life feel lighter just by standing beside you.

“Every moment of my life has led me here,” you said softly.

“Bullshit.” His voice cracked, raw and furious. “This is all bullshit. You can’t—you don’t deserve this. You can stay, I—”

“Steve,” you whispered. “Look at me.”

You reached up, cupping his face with both hands. His skin was cold, damp with sweat and tears. He pressed his lips together, a sob catching in his throat, and you felt the hot, thick tears roll down his cheeks until they pooled in the palms of your hands.

“From day one, you saw me. You saw beyond what I could see in myself.”

Steve let out a broken, animal sound and leaned into your touch, his eyes searching yours for a way out that didn't exist. He had spent years trying to convince you that you were worth saving, and now, he was watching you use that very life to save everyone else.

How could you ever forget that first night in the Wheeler basement? You had been a mess, bruised and soaked from head to toe, looking like you’d gone ten rounds with a nightmare. But even then, he didn’t look at you like a wounded animal. He didn’t look at you like a disposable tool of war. He looked at you with a careful, tentative affection that felt like the first warm sun after a lifetime of winter.

But the words had been written in the stars long before you met him and your story couldn't have been written any other way. If you were here now, it was because fate had allowed you to live. And if you lived, it was because Steve Harrington happened in your life.

It was because he accepted you for who you are. Because he fell first, pretending that all that fascination wasn't masked as love. Because he held your hand that Fourth of July and kissed you under the fireworks. It was because he saved you from near death and allowed you to still have some time together. It was the way he had knocked on Hopper’s door with a bouquet of flowers, his knees literally shaking with fear of your father, just to take you to a movie date. It was because he loved you devotedly, respected you, adored you with everything he had.

“If I know what it's like to love and to be loved, it’s because of you,” you whispered. “And you don't know how forever grateful I'll be to you for giving me that.”

“Please,” Steve murmured repeatedly, his hands trembling as he held your body against his. He was clutching you as if he could absorb you into his own skin, as if he could hide you from the fate that was coming for you.

“You made everything easier. All my life I believed I wasn't worthy of being loved, but then you came along and changed everything.” You smiled through the tears, a fragile, beautiful thing. “I wouldn't do anything differently, Steve. Not a single second.”

“Don't do this to me, babe—please, please—”

It was breaking your heart. Each plea was a physical blow. You felt your heart cracking, tiny pieces of it falling away one by one. 

“I need you to promise me something, okay? Look at me, Steve.” You sought his eyes and had to exercise a lot of self-control not to break down right there. “I want you to be happy. I want you to live the life of your dreams.”

His laugh was broken, almost soundless. “I fucking hate this,” he said. “How am I supposed to do that without you?”

“I’ll always be with you,” you said, even though you both knew what that promise cost. “You have a life ahead of you, Steve. A good one. Promise me you won’t stop. Promise me you’ll fight for it.”

He couldn't speak. He just looked at you, his chest heaving, his face a mosaic of soot, drying blood, and fresh, hot tears. He looked like he was physically dying, like his soul was being pulled through his ribs.

“I love you,” was all he managed to choke out between the jagged, guttural sobs that racked his body.

You smiled, even as your heart felt like it was being torn in two. 

“I love you, Steve Harrington.”

When you moved, you collided like lightning meeting thunder, violent, inevitable, and destructive. Your mouths crashed together in a disastrous mess of tears, salt, and terror.

Steve wanted time. God, he had wanted time so badly. He had built plans around it, trusted it like it was something guaranteed. The weight of his mother’s ring, hidden on a small chain beneath his shirt, felt like it was branding his skin. He had decided he'd propose the moment you got home, the moment the world was safe. He knew how much you dreamed of Alaska—of the frozen, silent mountains and the way the northern lights painted the sky—and he had spent every spare cent he had for a year to make that happen.

The initial plan was to propose to you with that breathtaking view as a witness to your youth, reckless, love. But Steve had always been haunted by the feeling that time was a thief. That was why he’d put the ring around his neck that morning. 

He just hadn’t known how little time he had left.

As he kissed you with a painful, bruising intensity, he reached for the chain. He ripped it from his neck, the metal snapping with a faint ping that was lost to the chaos. He pressed the cold silver into your palm, his fingers trembling as he closed your hand around it.

You felt it when he placed it in your hand, the cold metal against your palm.

You felt the weight of it, the history of a family you would never officially join. You deepened the kiss, holding him with a strength that defied your tired body. You were holding your first love, your only love, the boy who had made you human.

When you finally broke apart, foreheads touching, both of you breathless and ruined, you closed your fingers around the chain and held his hand instead.

“Please, please—” he whispered, the word barely there. “Don’t leave me.”

You wanted to say everything. You wanted to stay forever.

You were at the end of the road, and the time for promises had run out.

“Goodbye, Steve.”

The sound never fully left his throat. It caught there, raw and animal, and when reality slammed back into place, it did so cruelly. Hands dragged him backward. Boots scraped asphalt. Someone shouted orders he couldn’t hear because all he could hear was his own voice breaking apart as he screamed your name.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Everyone was frozen, witnesses to a sacrifice they were powerless to stop. Robin had collapsed to her knees, her sobs racking her frame until she was doubled over. Hopper stood paralyzed, his eyes brimming with tears he couldn't shed, his path blocked by a wall of military personnel. Nancy’s hands were pressed tight over her mouth, a single, silent tear tracking through the soot on her cheek.

These were your people. The one you had built out of chaos and survival and love. The one that had taught you what it meant to belong.

Steve fought like a caged animal, his boots scraping against the asphalt as he begged them to let him go, shouting your name until his lungs burned. He was thrown to the ground, the grit biting into his skin, but he never took his eyes off you.

You looked at Hopper one last time. Not to ask. Not to beg. Just to let him see that this was your choice. That you were at peace with it. That Jane would live. That she would grow up safe, loved, ordinary in all the ways you never got to be. She was now the age you had been when he found you in that forest, feral, terrified, alive. She deserved the life he had fought to give her.

“I'm sorry,” you whispered.

Then, the air crackled. You felt the surge of energy before the world white-outed—a hum that vibrated in your very marrow. A flash swept across the perimeter, a titanic force field that pushed the entire world back. The C4 charges detonated in a synchronized roar, and the Upside Down didn't just break, it folded. Everything was sucked into a violent whirlwind, a chaotic abyss that began to erase itself from existence.

The noise was horrifying, a primal scream of a dying dimension. You closed your eyes, letting go of the tethers that held you to the world of the living. In the fading distance, you could still hear them screaming your name.

But this was the end. This was your story, and as the darkness rushed in to claim you, you realized you were happy. You have lived. You have loved.

One last tear tracked down your cheek. And then, nothingness.

A deafening silence took over the place. Steve stared in sheer, unadulterated horror at the space where you should have been. There was no portal. Just a building in ruins, smoking under a normal, mocking sky.

You were gone. Truly, finally gone.

He dropped to his knees, skin splitting against dust, pain flaring uselessly through his hand. He didn’t feel it. There was no room for it. All he could see was you, every version of you he had ever loved, layered one on top of the other until it crushed him.

Steve squeezed his eyes shut, his breath coming in broken hitches. It was then that he realized his fist was clenched tight around something cold. He raised his hand, blinking through the tears, and saw it: the silver chain, the wedding ring dangling from the end. He hadn't noticed, but you had put it back in his hands as a promise you were forcing him to keep. You wanted him to move on.

You wanted him to be happy. A future you were asking him to live without you.

Steve let out a sound that barely resembled a sob and curled forward, clutching the ring to his chest like it might still anchor him to you.

But it would never be the same.

Without you, there was no happy ending. 

“All right, all right—let’s go.”

Steve planted his hands on his hips, scanning the parking lot as the kids—who absolutely were not kids anymore—filed into the trailer. “Jeez, did you have to buy the whole store?” he asked, one eyebrow lifting as Robin struggled with a bag that looked one bad move away from tearing.

“In my defense,” she said, breathless but defiant, “we have, like, a small army to feed. And I needed a Kit Kat.” She held one up proudly. “I even brought one for you.” She tapped a second bar against Steve’s chest.

He caught it between his fingers, let out a long, grounded breath, and stuffed it into his pocket. “All right. Enough. Everyone here?” He poked his head into the trailer, performing the mental head-count that had become second nature.

Lucas glanced around. “Uh—Dustin’s not back yet.”

Steve opened his mouth to complain about the schedule when a familiar voice grumbled behind him.

“Jesus Christ, the bathroom in this place should be classified as a biohazard.” Dustin shrugged, his face twisted in a look of pure disgust.

“Everything okay, bud?” Steve took off his shades and patted Dustin’s shoulder, fighting back the laugh that threatened to break through his responsible adult mask.

“Barely,” Dustin said. “I stared death in the face in there, ‘cause—.”

“Biohazard,” Max interrupted, rolling her eyes with a smirk. “We get it.”

“That’s what I’m saying.”

“All right,” Steve said, gentle but firm, clapping hands to get everyone moving and get things in place. “Everybody, buckle up. Right now!” 

Max and Lucas were already arguing about who got to lean on whom for the next leg of the trip.  Dustin went back to his astrophysics book while Mike, Will, and El chatted happily in the back. 

Steve caught El’s eye in the mirror. She gave him a small nod, there was a depth of respect and gratitude in her eyes that always made Steve’s heart ache. 

When she had returned to Hawkins eighteen months after the Upside Down took you, it had been a bittersweet miracle. Hopper and Mike had known she was safe because of your final message, but for Steve, her return was the final, broken proof that you were gone.

He didn't blame her. He loved her. But looking at her was a constant, living reminder of the price you had paid.

“All right, dingus,” Robin said, already buckled in, watching him closely. “We doing this or what?”

Steve slid into the driver’s seat and fastened his seatbelt. “Yeah,” he said. “Let’s do this.”

He pressed play.

The familiar, melancholic chords of Piano Man filled the cabin, your favorite song. Billy Joel’s voice drifted through the speakers, steady and nostalgic. Steve turned the key, the engine roaring to life, and before they even cleared the gas station parking lot, the chaos in the back reached a fever pitch. Max was yelling at Lucas, Dustin was laughing at something Will said, and the air was thick with the life you had died to protect.

Beside him, Robin offered a small, closed-mouth smile: a look of pure solidarity. 

Before hitting the highway toward the long road to Alaska, Steve glanced in the rearview mirror. Hanging from the glass was the silver chain, the wedding ring catching the afternoon sun. It swung gently with the movement of the car, a North Star to guide him.

A small, genuine smile touched his lips. This was what you wanted. This was the life you would have led if fate had been kinder.

“All right, Alaska,” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the music and the kids. “Here we come.”

He shifted the trailer into gear and pulled onto the open road. It was for the kids. It was for the future.

But most of all, it would always be for you.

[sheisjoeschateau]

Oh, So We Do Love Steve...

🖤 An Ongoing Series, from Misha’s Masterlist Library. 📚+ 📁 Infodump file & all volumes and chapters (+more) below.

TAG LIST FULL. -> See disclaimer here.

☾⋆⁺₊ Welcome to the full series masterlist. ⋆⁺₊☾

Steve Harrington x Bauman!fem!reader 🖤 enemies to lovers, heavy angst, hurt/comfort, upside down mayhem, S2-S4, post S4 universe hot-take, end-of-the-world / dystopian setting, ugly fights turned smut (...but with hella plot). 18+

🏹 AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is the hill I die on. This pairing? My OTP. They'll never not be my favorite, no matter how many other fics that I write. Steve & Babe Bauman Supremacy 5ever.

SUMMARY & ALL CHAPTERS BELOW + more fun things

Xx misha

🗝️ p.s. spoilers here

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆☾⋆⁺₊⋆☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆

SUMMARY: Murray Bauman’s niece shows up, and Steve Harrington’s last nerve packs its bags and flees the country.

That's you.

The adults think you’re a godsend. The kids practically build a shrine. You’re helpful, charming, funny (of freaking course you are) and you fit into the group like a missing piece of the puzzle to help solve the end of the world.

But not for Steve.

Because as far as Steve’s concerned? He thinks you’re the end of the world in a cool jacket. You’re the reason he lost the girl. The reason his maybe-life, his maybe-happy ending, blew up in his face. If you had just stayed out of it, if you hadn’t left that bunker with Nancy and Jonathan, he wouldn’t be stuck watching a future he almost had walk around like it never belonged to him in the first place. If you had just stayed out of it, if you’d kept your too-smart, too-sarcastic ass inside that ridiculous bunker? You wouldn’t be haunting him like a ghost with better hair.

Now you’re everywhere. With your mouth, your attitude, your impossible face. The female version of Murray Bauman, if Murray had cheekbones and a death glare that could peel paint. Witty. Sharp. Always one step ahead. Less beard, more bite. You’re like if Murray Bauman were somehow hot and terrifying. You’re clever, lethal, infuriating… And Steve can’t stand you.

He hates how your laugh gets under his skin. He hates the way you look at him like you already know what he’s thinking, and you’re bored by it. He hates that you always end up being right about most things and don’t even brag about, just sitting there all satisfied and subtly smug. He hates how you talk, how you think, how you smirk like the universe is in on your joke.

He hates you. HE WILL FOREVER HATE YOU.

…but will he?

⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺⋆☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆

CHAPTERS: All chapters listed chronologically, in sequence with the way it's meant to flow and be read. I highly suggest not skipping, or reading out of order, so that you truly can read this and experience it fully plus comprehend the plot.

New chapters uploaded every weekend.

VOLUME I • The Beginning

[PART I] | [PART II] [PART III] | [PART IV] | [PART V] [PART VI] | [PART VII] | [PART VIII] [Part IX - blurb] | [Part IX - full] [Part X] 📖 baby bauman begins 📁 Marjorie Bauman

SUMMARY: Steve Harrington’s life was going just fine (no it wasn’t) before you came into the picture and made him lose the girl (even though she’d already mentally clocked out of their relationship). He’s already in the search for a cat-eating monster lizard (thanks, Dustin) and a newly dethroned king turned babysitter (thanks, Billy). But then you waltz in, with your bad-to-the-bone combat boots and obnoxiously witty snark (and stupidly full lips) as if you’ve decided to mock his ancestors just for kicks and make his life a total joke.

Little does he know you’re the love of his life and you’ve only ruined it by giving him no chance at a life without you in it.

⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺⋆☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆

VOLUME II • The Aftermath (time jump — 1991)

[CHAPTERS 1-2-3-4] [CHAPTERS 5 & 6] [CHAPTERS 7-8-9] [CHAPTERS 10 & 11] [CHAPTERS 12-13] [CHAPTERS 13.5, 14 & 15] [CHAPTERS 16-17-18-19] [CHAPTERS 20-21-22-23-24] [CHAPTERS 25-26-27-28] [CHAPTERS 29-30-31] [CHAPTERS 32-33-34-35-36-37] STILL ONGOING -> keep checking in! simultaneously posting V2 & V3

SUMMARY: The upside down is gone. Welcome to the right-side up universe — also known as normal life. No more Soviets plaguing the city of Hawkins. No more hellish quarantine. No more monsters, or Vecna, or supernatural curses and comatose kids, or death scares. Now? Now you all live together, under one roof. Steve’s roof. “Casa Harrington.”

…but while you all made it back in one piece, Steve’s sanity didn’t.

He’s gone nonverbal and catatonic, his mind lost in the void of his own head. He can’t unsee everything. Your second flatline. Dustin being taken. The kids screaming for him. Murray looking petrified, Hopper being frantic to save you all, Joyce taking a bullet for her sons. Mentally? He’s still back there — even though physically, he’s right here. In your arms, safe and sound, his ear to your heartbeat as it now beats in regular time. And you’ll spend the rest of your life loving him, devoted and determined to bring him back to you.

So will the kids. So will Joyce and Hopper. So will Robin. Nancy, Jonathan, Eddie and Argyle. Dr. Owens and Eleven are guiding him through it daily. And your uncle? He never leaves Steve’s side for one second.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺⋆☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆

VOLUME III • The Downfall (1987 -> 2 weeks after Volume I)

[CHAPTERS 1-2-3-4-5] [CHAPTERS 6-7-8-9] [CHAPTERS 10-11-12] [CHAPTERS 13 & 14] [CHAPTERS 15-16-17-18-19] [CHAPTERS 20-21-22] [CHAPTERS 23-24-25] [CHAPTERS 26-27-28] [CHAPTERS 29-30-31] [CHAPTERS 32-33-34-35-36] [CHAPTERS 37-38-39-40-41] [CHAPTERS 42-43-44-45-46-47] [CHAPTERS 48-49-50] [CHAPTERS 51-52-53-54-55] [CHAPTERS 56 & 57] [CHAPTERS 58 & 59] [CHAPTERS 60 & 61] [CHAPTERS 62-63-64] [CHAPTERS 65-66-67-68] [CHAPTERS 69-70-72-72-73]

[CHAPTERS 74 & 75] [CHAPTERS 76 & 77] [CHAPTERS 78-79-80] STILL ONGOING -> keep checking in! simultaneously posting V2 & V3

SUMMARY: The world’s ending quietly in Hawkins, and somehow, Steve Harrington is still trying to save what’s left of it. After all the gunfire, after the blood, after the smoke clears, it’s just the two of you in a Winnebago that smells like your miserable arrhythmia safe decaf coffee, gasoline, and ghosts. The roads are dead. The sky’s the wrong color. Every radio channel is static. It’s the end of the world, but Steve Harrington now looks at you like you’re the most important human worth saving instead of the worst person he’s ever met.

And he’s going to do anything to save you, even if it costs him his own life along the way. 

🗄️ -> THE BAUMAN FILES

📁 baby bauman begins 📁 Marjorie Bauman 📁 [TBD]

💌 MY FAVE OSWDLS ASKS -> from you

babe bauman face cards

anon write-in (new reader)

anon librarian’s love letter to OSWDLS

Murray Bauman is a softie, period.

Murray 🫱🏼‍🫲🏽 Regina George (@thecreelhouse gets me)

Steve & Bauman’s song (all thanks to @silkholland)

Jonathan Byers is a riot

petition to prohibit bauman from ever climbing anything ever

❤️‍🩹 my inspiration for catatonic Steve

💥 bauman + buckley = Steve’s dream team soulmates

🍒 cherry baby, checking in

🥵 kinky/freaky/emo smutty steve x babe bauman

👀 UMMM HELLO BAUMAN’S EX CAMEO???

🖤 more babe bauman gushing

✨ Joseph’s review / reading breakdown (<- go here if you’re confused please, i beg of thee…)

thank you all x999999 for the OSWDLS taglist requests !! unfortunately Tumblr has now made it known to me that i've reached my limit :( so i'll still be taking any tag requests and writing it down into my list of library cardholders. apparently, the limit is 30?!?!?!?!??! diabolical. that being said, please follow me and turn on your notifications. that way, you don't miss the updates for this x

[thelastcitysposts]

chapter one: the crawl

steve harrington x fem!reader (word count: 10100)

summary: eighteen months after everything changed, hawkins is still standing—but only just. as the group settles into a dangerous new routine under military watch, a sudden disruption at the squawk pulls them back into action. but when their latest crawl begins, it quickly becomes clear that whatever they’ve been searching for… might already be watching them back.

warnings: trauma, mentions of death, cursing

note: welcome to season five!!! <3

series masterlist - << prev chapter - next chapter >>

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

The first thing you feel is the pull.

It’s sudden and violent, something wrapping tight around your ankle and dragging you backward before you can even catch your balance, your hands scraping uselessly against the ground as you’re yanked off your feet. The impact knocks the air from your lungs, your body slamming hard against something rough and uneven, the force of it leaving your head spinning as the world snaps violently into place around you.

Dark.

Red.

Wrong.

The Upside Down stretches out in every direction, the air thick and suffocating, the ground beneath you slick with something that doesn’t feel real but still clings to your skin all the same. Your chest heaves as you try to pull in a breath, your body slow to respond, like everything is just slightly out of sync.

And then you hear them.

The screech comes first—high-pitched, sharp enough to cut straight through you—followed by the heavy, frantic beat of wings.

Too many.

You push yourself up too quickly, your arms trembling under your weight as your vision struggles to focus, just in time to see the first demobat dive toward you.

You don’t get out of the way fast enough.

It hits you hard, claws tearing into your side as the force of it sends you stumbling backward, pain flaring sharp and immediate as something hot and wet spreads across your skin. Your breath catches, a broken sound tearing from your throat as you try to shove it off, your movements sluggish, delayed.

Another one follows.

Then another.

They circle you, fast and relentless, wings beating violently as they close in from every direction, their screeches overlapping until it becomes noise—too loud, too close, too much.

You swing blindly, your hands catching nothing but air, your body reacting too slowly as one of them slams into you again, knocking you off balance completely this time.

You hit the ground hard.

The impact rattles through you, your head snapping back as your lungs struggle to catch up, your body refusing to cooperate no matter how hard you try to force it to move.

You can’t breathe.

You can’t—

“—go—!”

The sound cuts through everything.

Faint.

Distant.

Your head turns instinctively, your vision blurring as you try to focus past the chaos, past the movement, past the shadows—

And then you see him.

Eddie.

He’s on the ground.

Not moving the way he should be.

Not getting up.

The bats are already on him.

Too many of them.

They swarm over him in seconds, a dark mass of wings and claws and teeth, tearing into him as he struggles beneath them, his movements frantic at first—then slower—

“No—”

The word barely leaves you.

Your body doesn’t move.

You try.

You try to get up, to push yourself forward, to do something—but it’s like your limbs aren’t listening, like the world is holding you in place just long enough to make sure you see it.

To make sure you don’t miss it.

“Eddie—!”

Your voice breaks this time, louder, sharper, but it doesn’t matter.

He’s still there.

Still on the ground.

Still—

The bats close in tighter.

You can’t see him anymore.

The sound is what stays.

The tearing.

The movement.

And then—

Nothing.

Your chest tightens painfully, your breath coming in short, panicked bursts as something inside you twists hard enough to make your vision blur.

You should be moving.

You should be helping—

You should be doing something—

Another demobat slams into you.

Your back hits the ground again, harder this time, your head ringing as your body jerks under the impact, claws digging in as you struggle against it, your hands weak, uncoordinated as you try to shove it away.

More of them circle overhead.

Closer.

Lower.

Your breathing stutters, panic rising fast now, your chest tightening as the space around you closes in—

There’s no one here.

No one to pull you up.

No one to—

The red pulses around you, brighter now, bleeding into everything until you can’t tell where the ground ends and the sky begins, your hands slipping against something wet as you try to push yourself up again—

You can’t get out.

You can’t—

The alarm slams off beside your head.

Your body jerks violently as your eyes snap open, your breath catching sharp in your chest as the nightmare clings to you for just a second longer, the sound of wings still echoing faintly in your ears before it all crashes away at once.

“Hey—hey, hey…”

Steve.

His voice.

Right there.

Real.

His arms are already around you, pulling you in before you can fully register it, one hand coming up to cradle the back of your head as the other wraps tightly around your side—careful of where you’re still healing, even after all this time.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, his voice low, steady in that way that immediately starts pulling you back into yourself. “You’re okay. You’re okay.”

He’s said it enough times now that your body almost believes him before your mind catches up.

Your hands grip at his shirt without thinking, fingers curling into the fabric as your breathing stutters, your body still halfway caught between now and then.

It takes a second.

A few uneven breaths.

The feel of him—solid, warm, here—before the panic starts to loosen its grip.

You nod against him.

You don’t trust yourself to speak—not yet.

“…Nightmares again?” he asks quietly.

You nod again.

You don’t trust your voice yet.

You don’t need to.

His hold tightens just slightly, his chin resting lightly against the top of your head as he presses a soft kiss into your hair.

He doesn’t say anything else.

He never really does in these moments.

He just stays.

Lets you come back at your own pace.

After a few minutes, your breathing evens out properly, your grip on him loosening just slightly as the last of the tension drains from your shoulders.

Steve shifts just enough to look down at you, his hand brushing lightly along your arm.

“C’mon,” he murmurs, softer now, the edge of sleep still lingering in his voice. “We better get to the Squawk before Robin kills us.”

You let out a quiet groan, your face pressing further into his chest.

The last eighteen months flash through your mind in one tired, continuous blur—planning, scouting, running crawls, mapping routes, sending Hopper in and pulling him back out—over and over again, trying to find something, anything that would lead you back to Vecna.

It never really stops.

“…Five more minutes,” you mumble.

Steve huffs out a quiet laugh above you, the sound warm and familiar as his hand slides up to the back of your neck.

“Yeah, that’s what you said yesterday,” he says, leaning down to press another kiss to your hair. “And the day before that.”

You tilt your head up just enough to look at him, already leaning in before you fully think it through, your lips brushing against his.

It’s soft at first.

Sleepy.

Easy.

But it doesn’t stay that way.

His hand shifts slightly, fingers curling at your side as he leans into it properly this time, kissing you back with just enough pressure to make your chest tighten, your hand coming up instinctively to rest against his jaw.

You feel him smile faintly against your mouth.

“…You’re trying to distract me,” he murmurs.

You don’t pull back.

“Worked yesterday,” you whisper.

That’s all it takes.

His hand slides a little more firmly against your waist, pulling you closer as the kiss deepens, slower but heavier now, the kind that lingers just a second longer each time.

For a moment—

everything else fades.

No planning.

No Upside Down.

No Hawkins tearing itself apart.

Just this.

Just him.

Then—

BANG.

The noise is loud enough to make you both jolt slightly, the sudden crash echoing through the hallway just outside your bedroom.

“Will—move!”

“I was here first!”

“Jonathan, seriously—!”

Steve groans immediately, dropping his head back against the pillow.

“…You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

You can’t help it—you laugh, the sound softer than it used to be, but real.

“Well then,” you say, pushing yourself up carefully despite the lingering stiffness in your body.

Steve watches you for a second, still half sunk into the mattress.

“…How much longer are they staying with us?” he mutters, dragging a hand over his face.

You shoot him a look over your shoulder as you swing your legs off the bed.

“They’re not guests, Steve,” you point out. “They’re family.”

And they always have been.

They’ve been here long enough now that it doesn’t feel temporary anymore. Just… how things are.

He sits up slowly, already reaching for you the second you’re just out of reach, his hand catching yours loosely.

“They could be family… at a different house,” he argues, voice still rough with sleep. “We could go to my place? My parents aren’t even there.”

You raise a brow at him.

“…But Miss Byers gets better snacks,” he adds, completely serious.

You roll your eyes, but there’s no bite to it.

“Come on, Romeo.”

You tug his hand, pulling him up with you.

He follows without protest.

He always does.

The two of you move toward the door, the noise outside getting louder the closer you get—Jonathan and Will still arguing, Joyce trying (and failing) to mediate somewhere in the middle.

Steve glances at you briefly before you reach the handle, his fingers brushing lightly against yours.

Grounding.

Always.

You open the door.

Jonathan and Will both freeze mid-argument, standing just outside the bathroom, both looking like they haven’t slept nearly enough.

“…Sorry,” Jonathan says immediately.

“Yeah—sorry,” Will adds, rubbing the back of his neck.

You glance between them, then back at Steve, a small smile tugging at your lips.

“…Morning,” you say.

And just like that—

the day starts.

_____________________________

The car hums steadily beneath you as it rolls through Hawkins, the low vibration of the engine filling the quiet space between you in a way that almost feels familiar.

Same drive. Same road. Same routine you’ve followed almost every day for the last year.

The cassette clicks—

And then—

“Woah, we’re halfway there—”

You don’t even hesitate.

“Oh, come on,” you groan, letting your head fall back against the seat as Livin’ on a Prayer fills the car. “Steve, seriously? Again?”

Steve barely spares you a glance, one hand loose on the wheel, the other tapping lightly against it in time with the music.

“It’s a classic,” he says, like that settles it. “You just don’t appreciate good music.”

You turn your head slowly, narrowing your eyes at him.

“I appreciate good music,” you shoot back. “This is just… overplayed. Change it.”

“No.”

“Steve.”

“Nope.”

You lean forward, reaching toward the cassette deck, but his hand is already there, catching yours easily before you can get anywhere near it.

“Don’t even try,” he says, not even looking at you this time.

You huff, dropping your hand back into your lap.

“You’re unbelievable.”

“If you wanted better music,” he adds casually, eyes still on the road, “you could’ve waited for Jonathan and Nancy to take you.”

A small laugh slips out before you can stop it, your head shaking slightly.

“Oh yeah, because Jonathan’s playlists are just thrilling,” you say. “Nothing like staring out a window while someone plays the saddest song ever written on repeat.”

Steve snorts quietly.

“Exactly.”

The argument dissolves just as quickly as it started, settling into something softer as the music carries on in the background. Your gaze drifts out the window, watching Hawkins pass by in slow, familiar stretches.

It’s different now.

Not empty—but quieter.

Tighter.

Military trucks sit parked along certain roads, stationed more like checkpoints than patrols, their presence constant without being overwhelming. A few soldiers move in the distance, posted near barricaded areas where the ground still hasn’t been fixed—where it can’t be fixed.

The town feels… held together.

Like something waiting.

Your eyes catch on it without meaning to.

The MAC-Z.

The fencing is the first thing you notice—tall, reinforced, stretching around what used to be the library, cutting it off completely from the rest of Hawkins. Beyond it, the ground still looks wrong, uneven in a way that doesn’t belong, like something beneath it is still shifting, still there even if you can’t see it.

Floodlights tower over the area, even now, turned off in the daylight but still looming.

Watching.

The car doesn’t slow as you pass.

But you do.

Your thoughts quiet.

Your gaze lingers just a second too long before you force yourself to look away, your fingers curling slightly in your lap without thinking.

Like if you stare too long, it might look back.

The song keeps playing.

Steve doesn’t say anything.

He doesn’t need to.

You feel his hand before you see it, sliding over yours where it rests, his fingers threading through yours easily, like it’s second nature now.

Like it always has been.

His thumb brushes slowly across your skin.

Grounding.

You glance over at him briefly.

He’s still focused on the road, his expression calm, steady—but his grip tightens just slightly around your hand.

You squeeze back.

Just once.

And that’s enough.

The tension loosens.

The moment passes.

Hawkins fades behind you as the road begins to climb, the town slowly dropping away below as the car winds up the hill. The familiar structure of WSQK comes into view ahead—isolated, standing on its own like it’s been placed just far enough away from everything else to stay untouched.

The tower rises high above it, cutting into the sky, wires stretching out in long lines that hum faintly when the wind hits them just right.

Steve pulls into the lot, the gravel crunching softly beneath the tires as he parks.

The engine cuts.

Before you can even reach for the door—

He’s already out.

You blink, watching as he shuts his door and moves around the front of the car without hesitation.

“Steve—”

But he’s already there.

Your door swings open, and he offers you his hand like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

You stare at him for half a second.

Then roll your eyes.

But you take it anyway.

“Such a gentleman,” you mutter as you step out carefully, your balance still not perfect, your body reminding you of that in small, quiet ways.

“Always,” he replies easily.

You lean in just slightly, pressing a quick kiss to his lips before he can say anything else.

It’s brief.

Soft.

But it lingers just enough to make him pause for a second.

“C’mon,” you say, pulling back, already turning toward the building. “Before Robin actually kills us.”

He huffs out a quiet laugh, his hand brushing lightly against yours as he falls into step beside you.

And together—

you head inside.

Another day. Another shift. Another attempt at figuring out what comes next.

_____________________________

The door barely has time to swing shut behind you before—

“—Hurry up, lovebirds, we go live in twenty seconds!”

Robin’s voice cuts across the room immediately, fast and sharp, already halfway through setting something up as she glances over her shoulder at the two of you.

You roll your eyes instinctively, shooting Steve a look as he just grins, completely unfazed.

“Good morning to you too,” he mutters, already being pulled toward the sound booth.

“Don’t start with me,” Robin shoots back, pointing toward the door. “Inside. Now. I need sound effects and I need them good.”

Steve gives your hand a quick squeeze before slipping away, letting himself get dragged into the booth as Robin shoves a pair of headphones at him.

You shake your head, a small smile tugging at your lips as you move toward the couch just outside the glass, dropping down into it as you pull a stack of maps into your lap.

The paper is worn.

Folded too many times.

Marked up in pen, pencil, anything you could find during the last crawl—routes, dead ends, places you swore you’d seen something move.

Your fingers trace the same marked route for what feels like the hundredth time.

Inside the booth, Robin adjusts the mic, flicking a switch—

A soft click.

Then—

“Good morning, Hawkins! This is WSQK The Squawk!”

Steve immediately hits a button.

A loud, ridiculous rubber chicken squawk blasts through the speakers.

You snort quietly, shaking your head as you glance up through the glass, catching the way Robin closes her eyes for half a second like she’s reconsidering all of her life choices.

“It’s looking like a regular day in Hawkins,” she continues, recovering quickly. “Fifty-five degrees, low chance of rain, medium chance of arrest, high chance of helicopters.”

Steve taps something else.

A faint whistling sound effect cuts in.

You lean back slightly into the couch, arms folding loosely as you listen, your gaze drifting between them and the maps in your lap.

“But general banality aside,” Robin continues, slipping into her rhythm easily now, “it’s an exciting day for me, your friend, entertainer, and DJ, Robin Buckley… Nice to meet you! …AKA Rockin’ Robin.”

She cues music briefly, letting it play before cutting it again.

“And why is it a big day for me, you ask? Well, it’s my 500th broadcast. Yeah, you heard that right, folks. Five-double-O!”

Steve hits another button.

Applause fills the room.

You roll your eyes again, though there’s no real annoyance behind it, just something warm and familiar as you glance over at him.

He catches you looking.

Smiles.

Just a little.

Then looks back to the board like nothing happened.

“…Which means it’s been even longer since you’ve heard the sultry voice of Jimmy ‘Fast Hands’ Lee,” Robin goes on, pacing slightly as she talks. “But while Jimmy was fleeing Hawkins even faster than he moves those hands—”

Steve hits the scream sound effect.

Robin doesn’t even pause.

“—yours truly was watching slackjawed as the earth split open beneath her feet and coughed up that tsunami of mysterious dandruff.”

Your eyes flick back down to the map.

Your fingers still slightly.

“…And now, I’m stuck here with you, my fellow quarantine compatriots,” she continues. “And if I can be brutally honest, I couldn’t be happier.”

Steve takes a sip of his coffee between cues, completely casual.

“Because when you really think about it,” Robin says, leaning into the mic, “why would you want to live anywhere else? I mean, what town on Earth can match our very impressive military-to-civilian ratio?”

A whistle sound cuts in again.

You glance up, shaking your head faintly.

Robin gestures vaguely as she talks, completely in her element.

“And those free, mandatory medical checkups? I mean, very cool. ‘Cause after we inhaled those springtime snowflakes, who knows what’s wrong with us? Maybe we’re fine, maybe not.”

Steve presses another button.

A coughing sound plays through the speakers.

Robin points at him without looking.

“Exactly.”

Your lips twitch slightly.

“After all,” she continues, “this was a ‘natural phenomenon never before seen by man.’ A phenomenon now covered up by a giant metal Band-Aid. Quite the eyesore, but hey—great for sledding.”

She leans closer to the mic.

“Though seriously, kids, stop sledding on the giant steel Band-Aid. You are going to kill yourselves. Also, the men with guns.”

Steve taps something again.

Robin nods, satisfied.

“They don’t like it. Not one bit.”

Your gaze drifts again, back to the map, your thumb pressing lightly against a section you’d marked weeks ago.

Still nothing.

Still no answers.

“While we’re on the subject of things not to do,” Robin continues, “please steer clear of the Military Access Control Zone, aka the MACZ—or as I like to call it, the Big Mac.”

You don’t look up this time.

But your hand pauses.

“I have no idea what’s going on in there,” she adds, “but I have a gut feeling there’s a pretty good reason they’d like you to stay away.”

A beat.

“But hey, the rest of Hawkins is still there for you to enjoy.”

Inside the booth, Steve glances toward you again.

This time he lingers.

Just for a second longer.

You feel it.

You don’t look up.

But you feel it.

“Someday soon, they’re gonna let us out of here,” Robin says, more lightly now.

Steve hits a bell sound.

“In the meantime,” she continues, “be thankful this is your home, study for that test, enjoy that TV dinner, and go on that date.”

She pauses.

Just long enough.

“…Which, by the way, is exactly what yours truly is doing tonight.”

Steve immediately hits the rubber chicken again.

Robin shoots him a look.

You finally glance up—and there it is.

That look on Steve’s face.

Soft.

Amused.

And when his eyes flick toward you this time, there’s something else there too—something quieter, something that makes your chest tighten just slightly before you look back down at the map.

“That’s right,” Robin continues, ignoring him now. “Rockin’ Robin has a date, ladies and gentlemen.”

Steve taps the button again.

Another ridiculous squawk.

Robin exhales through her nose.

“And now, who is this lucky someone? Well, don’t be so nosy, kids. They know who they are.”

She leans closer to the mic, voice dropping just slightly.

“That is, if you’re listening… which I hope you are.”

A beat.

“Because this next one—”

She reaches for the switch.

“—it’s for you, babe.”

Music kicks in.

Louder this time.

Filling the space—

And then—

It warps.

The sound distorts suddenly, the music stretching unnaturally before collapsing into harsh, crackling static that cuts through the room sharp enough to make you flinch.

Your head snaps up.

Inside the booth, Robin frowns, adjusting something quickly.

“Whoa—” she says, pulling one side of the headphones off. “What’s going on?”

The static spikes again.

Louder.

Sharper.

“What the hell—?”

Your grip tightens on the map in your lap as you sit up slightly, your eyes locking onto 

___________________________

The music cuts wrong.

Not clean.

Not intentional.

It stretches for a second—warped, distorted—before collapsing into harsh, crackling static that fills the entire room.

You sit up immediately.

Inside the booth, Robin freezes mid-motion, her head tilting slightly as she pulls one side of her headphones off.

“Whoa—what’s going on?” she says, frowning. “What the hell? What the hell—?”

Steve turns at the same time, both of them looking down at something you can’t see from where you’re sitting.

Then they move.

Fast.

The booth door swings open as they rush out, Robin heading straight for the wall of equipment, already reaching for the controls like she knows exactly where to go—even if she doesn’t know what’s wrong.

You’re up just as quickly.

The map slips from your lap as you cross the room, closing the distance in a few quick steps as the static continues to spit and crack through the speakers.

“What happened?” you ask, moving in beside her.

“I don’t know,” Robin says quickly, her hands already moving over the dials, twisting one, then another. “It just—went—”

The sound spikes again—jagged this time, biting through the room.

You flinch slightly, reaching up to steady one of the switches she just adjusted as it flicks back harder than it should.

“That didn’t do anything,” you say, glancing between her hands and the panel, trying to follow what she’s changing.

“I noticed,” she mutters.

Behind you, Steve hovers for a second before backing off, his attention already shifting elsewhere.

“I told you to stop thumbing your nose at the military,” he says, heading for the coffee table.

“I was reiterating their goddamn rules,” Robin shoots back, not even looking at him. “Encouraging compliance.”

“Right. No sarcasm there.”

“Says the dingus with the rubber chicken.”

“These are very serious people, Robin!”

You roll your eyes faintly, your focus staying on the panel as Robin keeps adjusting things that don’t seem to be helping.

“Can you two argue after it stops screaming?” you mutter, reaching to turn one of the knobs she missed.

“Working on it!” Robin snaps, though there’s no real bite behind it—just tension.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit—”

Steve grabs the walkie.

“Henderson, you copy? Henderson?”

You glance over briefly, then back to Robin as another burst of static rattles through the room.

A crackle answers him.

“Yeah, I copy. God, you sound swell,” Dustin’s voice comes through, slightly distorted. “Let me take a wild guess. You’re not calling to wish me good morning.”

“It’s not exactly a good morning,” Steve says quickly. “We’ve got a situation at the Squawk. The signal—it’s… it’s gone all wonky. I think Robin finally pissed ’em off.”

“Doubtful,” Dustin replies. “She was encouraging compliance.”

“Told you!” Robin shoots back immediately.

You lean in slightly, watching her hands move again, following what she’s doing without interrupting this time.

“The remote radio head’s the more likely culprit,” Dustin continues.

Steve pauses.

“The remote what?”

“Just read the manual, Steve.”

You straighten slightly at that.

“Got it.”

Steve groans.

“C’mon, man, that thing might as well be in Greek.”

You’re already moving, stepping away from the panel and heading straight for the filing cabinet, pulling it open and flipping quickly through the folders until you find the one you’re looking for.

Behind you—

“Then learn Greek!” Dustin snaps through the walkie. “I can’t always be there to solve your problems for you, Steve.”

You grab the manual and turn back, moving quickly across the room—

Just in time to hear:

“Henderson? God—” Steve lowers the walkie slightly, looking over at you as you approach. “ ‘Learn Greek.’ You heard that tone. You heard that, right?”

You stop in front of him, holding out the manual.

A small shrug.

“I think he believes in you,” you say.

Steve stares at you for a second.

Then exhales, taking the manual.

“…Unbelievable.”

Behind you, the static crackles again.

Still loud.

And still not stopping.

___________________

The back office feels too small for this.

Not because of noise—

but because of the way everything has tightened.

The broadcast is still running out there, still bleeding static into the airwaves, but back here it’s quieter—too quiet—like you’re working in the eye of something you can’t quite see yet.

The sound isn’t in the room.

Just the knowledge of it.

Robin paces anyway.

“I swear to God,” she mutters, dragging a hand through her hair, “this stupid thing does not exist.”

You barely look up from the manual spread out in front of you, your finger tracing down the page as you skim, trying to make sense of something that feels deliberately impossible to follow.

Steve stands close beside you now, one hand braced lightly against the desk as he leans in, scanning the same page from over your shoulder.

The door bursts open.

You all look up.

Jonathan and Nancy step in quickly, both of them slightly out of breath, eyes sharp as they take in the room.

“What the hell was that?” Jonathan asks immediately.

Nancy’s gaze flicks between you, Steve, Robin.

“Is the signal still out?”

Robin turns toward them, already shaking her head, the panic sitting just beneath her words.

“I don’t know—I don’t know, it just cut and then the static and—just—help me find something. Anything.”

Jonathan doesn’t hesitate.

As he moves past you, his hand comes up instinctively, squeezing your shoulder—quick, familiar, grounding in a way that doesn’t need explanation.

You glance up at him for half a second.

He gives you a small nod.

Then he’s already reaching for another manual, flipping it open as he leans against the desk.

Nancy moves in beside him, grabbing a second stack of papers, scanning quickly.

Jonathan glances up.

“Can someone try Dustin again?”

Robin shakes her head.

“He turned off his walkie.”

Nancy’s brow furrows slightly.

“What’s up with him lately?”

Steve exhales quietly beside you.

“Don’t get me started.”

Robin points at him without looking.

“Yeah, please don’t.”

You flip another page quickly, your eyes catching on something—something that feels familiar, something Dustin had mentioned earlier—

Your focus sharpens. “Hey—!”

Jonathan looks over immediately.

“What?”

Your finger presses against the page. “Got it.”

Steve leans in further, his shoulder brushing yours as he looks.

“Wait, wait, wait—” he says. “There it is, yeah. Remote radio head, yeah.”

Robin steps closer instantly, peering over the edge of the desk. “And, uh—where exactly are we gonna find this remote thingamajig?”

_______________________________

Stepping outside feels like a reset.

The air is cooler, clearer—free of the low tension that had been building inside the station. Out here, it’s just the open space around the hill, the faint sound of wind moving through the trees, and the towering structure of metal rising above all of you.

The radio tower stretches impossibly high, its frame cutting up into the sky until the very top is almost hard to make out. You tilt your head back along with the others, eyes tracing the wiring, the beams, trying to pick out anything that looks out of place.

Robin squints beside you, one hand lifted to shield her eyes.

“I don’t see it.”

You narrow your focus, following the lines more carefully, scanning where something could have come loose or shifted. “It’s up there somewhere.”

Robin lets out a breath, already gesturing vaguely upward like that somehow helps.

“It’s gotta be. So, I guess somebody’s gotta climb to the tippy top of this bad boy and…” she trails off, mimicking a squeaky tightening motion with her hands.

Nancy shifts slightly at your side, arms folding loosely as she studies the height of it again. “Without a harness or anything, it seems kind of dangerous.”

There’s a brief pause—just enough for someone to make a decision.

Steve steps forward. “AKA job for good old Steve Harrington.”

Jonathan steps in then, a little too quickly, his voice cutting across the moment, already peeling his jacket off. “I, uh… I actually think this might be a better job for Jonathan Byers."

Steve interjects. "I’m like one quarter monkey, dude. I got this. Don't sweat it” Peeling his own jacket off and passing it to you kindly with a smile.

Before anyone can properly react, he’s already moving, heading toward the base of the tower like it’s settled.

Robin points toward the base of the tower.

“Uh, voltage! Unless you wanna fry.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m not an idiot,” Steve shoots back, already disappearing into the small structure beneath the tower.

You shift your weight slightly, watching the doorway, the moment stretching just enough to notice.

Then—

a low hum fills the air.

It vibrates faintly through the ground, through the metal structure above you, before—

The silence that follows is immediate.

Steve steps back out—and stops.

Your gaze follows his.

Jonathan is already heading up the ladder.

You let out a quiet breath, somewhere between a sigh and something more tired.

“Whoa, dude, what are you doing?” Steve calls up.

Jonathan doesn’t look down.

“I got this, dude. Don’t sweat it.”

Steve exhales sharply, frustration flashing across his face.

“Son of a…”

And then he’s moving again—quickly this time—cutting across to the other side of the tower and grabbing onto the ladder without another word, starting up after him like there’s no version of this where he lets Jonathan do it alone.

You sigh properly this time.

Robin watches them climb, clearly trying to piece together what just happened.

“What is up with them?”

You shake your head slightly, still looking up as the two of them move faster than they need to, neither giving the other an inch.

“I don’t even know. Jonathan has been acting weird to Steve ever since he moved in with us.”

Nancy barely reacts, her attention already drifting away from the situation.

“I don’t really care to watch these two.”

Robin nods immediately.

“Me neither.”

Above you, the metal ladder rattles faintly under their pace, both of them climbing like it’s some kind of competition neither one is willing to lose.

You watch them for a second longer—just long enough to make sure they’re steady—

before something else pulls your attention.

The low rumble of an engine.

You turn, the sound cutting through the quiet hilltop as a Bradley’s Big Buy truck pulls up beside the building, tires crunching against the gravel before it rolls to a stop.

Robin frowns.

“I thought grocery delivery wasn’t until tomorrow?”

Nancy glances over.

“Me too.”

You look at the truck, recognition settling in almost immediately.

Murray.

You don’t say it out loud.

You don’t need to.

You just turn and start walking toward it.

Robin and Nancy follow without hesitation, the three of you leaving the boys to the tower as you head across the gravel toward whatever Murray has brought with him this time.

_________________________

Gravel crunches under your shoes as you, Robin, and Nancy make your way toward the truck, the engine ticking as it cools. Behind you, the faint clatter of metal from the tower continues—Steve and Jonathan still somewhere up there—but your attention shifts the moment Murray climbs out of the driver’s side.

He straightens, brushing his hands together like he’s just arrived at exactly the right moment, eyes scanning over the three of you before landing on you specifically.

“Well, well—if it isn’t my favorite group of government-adjacent delinquents,” he says, clearly pleased with himself. Then, without missing a beat, “And my sweet child—”

You roll your eyes immediately.

“Still calling me that.”

He ignores you completely, already moving toward the back of the truck as if he didn’t hear a word.

“—you’re welcome.”

Robin lets out a quiet breath beside you, something between amusement and disbelief.

Murray swings open the back doors with a flourish and climbs inside.

“All right.”

There’s the sound of things shifting as he moves around.

“Santa’s brought a full sack today.”

He drags a large, worn sack toward the edge before reaching inside it, pulling something out and hopping down.

“A fresh telemetry tag.”

He hands it straight to Robin, who takes it carefully, already turning it over in her hands.

“Scarcer than hen’s teeth, these things.”

He doesn’t stop moving, reaching back into the sack again.

“Enough bullets and shells for Hop to start a small war—if he should so choose.”

Nancy grabs hold of the two ammunition cases, her expression tightening slightly as she looks down at it.

Then Murray pulls out a head of lettuce and waves it directly in your face.

“Anyone order a salad?”

You stare at him, unimpressed.

He turns back, grabbing something else.

“Grenade salad?”

He holds up a grenade like it’s the punchline to the world’s worst joke.

You, Robin, and Nancy all exchange the same look—polite, confused, not entirely sure how to respond.

“I hid the grenades under the, uh, lettuce,” he adds, like that explains everything.

He reaches back in again.

“Okay. Gatorade for El’s battery.”

Before he can even finish the sentence, Steve’s voice cuts in as he and Jonathan come around the side of the truck.

“Did someone say Gatorade? Let me get one of those.”

Murray tosses one without hesitation. Steve catches it easily, already grinning.

“Thanks.”

“Sure thing,” Murray replies, already digging through the sack again.

“But I don’t think it’s gonna go too well with… peanut butter!”

He tosses another pack toward Steve.

“Boppers! Hey! God, I missed these things. Thanks.”

Steve looks genuinely pleased, already opening them as Murray lets out a satisfied little laugh.

Then his attention shifts back to you.

“And of course, for my sweet child, something sour to match your attitude.”

He throws a sour patch kids bag your way.

You catch it without thinking. “Thanks, Bald Eagle.”

Murray pauses.

Stares at you.

Completely unimpressed.

Then moves on like he refuses to give you the satisfaction.

“Don’t worry, Mr. Byers. I got you a present too.”

He pulls out a cassette tape and waves it in Jonathan’s face.

“I know you’re allergic to jazz, but just give it a whirl. I think you’ll find it quite engaging.”

He winks.

Jonathan takes it quickly, clearing his throat as he looks away.

Murray doesn’t linger. He grabs a document envelope and turns toward Nancy.

“And for the station manager—”

He taps it lightly against her head before handing it over. “—the reason for my premature delivery.”

Nancy takes it immediately, already opening it as Jonathan steps in beside her. You shift closer too, the group naturally tightening as all of you look over the pages.

Her eyes move quickly.

“A burn? Tonight? But that’s—”

“Too soon, I know,” Murray says, nodding toward all of you now, his tone sharpening just slightly.

“Whatever they’re doing in the Upside Down evidently needs serious resources.”

Nancy flips the page.

Your eyes catch the numbers, the listed shipments, the scale of it.

“That’s a lot of cargo,” you say quietly.

“I figure a supply drop this big takes two hours, minimum.” Murray adds. 

Nancy nods once, already putting it together. “Which gives Hopper plenty of time for a crawl.”

Murray’s gaze hardens just slightly. “Maybe tonight’s the night we finally find that bastard and end this.”

__________________________________

The shift happens fast.

One second you’re outside, Murray’s words still hanging in the air, the weight of tonight settling in—and the next, everyone is moving.

Back inside.

Doors opening, voices overlapping, footsteps quick against the floor.

Murray doesn’t follow.

He’s already turning back toward his truck, shouting something about good luck, but no one really responds. There’s no time to. The plan has already started moving, and all of you fall into it like it’s second nature now.

Inside the station, everything tightens into motion.

Nancy is already talking, handing Robin a folded piece of paper covered in quick, precise notes.

“Stick to this,” she says, pointing at specific lines. “Timing matters. Don’t rush it.”

Robin nods, scanning it quickly as she walks, already half in performance mode.

“I got it, I got it—just don’t make me do math on air.”

You move ahead of them, slipping into the sound booth first.

The equipment is still slightly out of place from earlier—the broadcast cutting out, the static—and your hands move quickly, adjusting dials, resetting switches, checking levels like muscle memory. The familiar routine steadies you, even as everything else speeds up.

Behind you, the others file in.

Nancy near the back, close to the door. Jonathan beside her, already watching everything, tracking. Robin steps up to the mic, rolling her shoulders once like she’s shaking out the nerves before they settle.

Steve lingers for half a second as he steps in behind you.

You barely have time to turn before his hand brushes lightly against your arm, grounding, familiar—and then he leans in just enough to press a quick kiss to your head.

It’s brief.

Soft.

But it lands.

“Got this,” he murmurs, more to you than anyone else.

Then he’s gone, moving past you to the sound effects deck, already flipping switches, preparing tapes.

You take a breath.

Then step back, just behind him.

Everything clicks into place.

Robin leans toward the mic.

“Hey there, friends, this is Rockin’ Robin. Sorry about the abrupt departure. I hope you survived without me. We had some annoying technical difficulties.”

Steve hits the first set of effects—glass shattering, followed by the sound of a baby crying—layered just enough to feel chaotic without overwhelming her voice.

“But to make it up to you, we have a very special treat that’s sure to turn your day upside down…”

Music kicks in.

“Upside Down” by Diana Ross fills the room, the beat instantly shifting the energy as it carries out over the broadcast.

Robin settles into it, voice smooth, easy—like none of this is anything more than another morning show.

“Now, before you start bumping, here’s a few fun facts about the Boss. She was born Diane in the North End of Detroit. Berry Gordy, that’s Gordy with a G, signed her to Motown in 1961. And one is the key number, because between 1964 and ’67, the Supremes had ten songs hit the top of the charts. That’s right, ten.”

You watch her as she speaks, the rhythm of it familiar now—the way she weaves it in, the way the code hides in plain sight.

“Then in ’78, she tried to make it big in the movies with The Wiz, which was a colossal floparoonie. But, in my personal opinion, I still dig it. Michael Jackson as a scarecrow? Give it a chance.”

Behind you, Steve adjusts another dial, glancing briefly in your direction before refocusing.

“But make sure you bring your supersized popcorn, because this movie has a run time of over two hours.”

Nancy shifts slightly at the back, eyes flicking between Robin and the clock, tracking every second.

“All right, class dismissed. I hope you were taking notes. There will be a test later. Take it away, Diane.”

The song swells.

♪ Upside down ♪

And just like that—

the message is out.

__________________________

The moment the broadcast ends, everything moves again.

No hesitation.

Robin pulls back from the mic, Steve already stepping away from the sound deck, Nancy reaching for the door before anyone else has fully spoken. You follow with the others, the group slipping out of the booth in practiced motion, the station still humming faintly behind you as if nothing has changed.

But everything has.

You move quickly down the short hallway, turning into a back room that looks, at first glance, like nothing more than storage—boxes stacked unevenly, old equipment pushed into corners, shelves cluttered with things no one has touched in years.

Nancy doesn’t slow.

Her hand is already in her pocket, pulling out a small set of keys as she crosses to the back wall. She reaches one of the shelving units, pushing a box aside with ease, revealing a small, almost hidden lock embedded into the wall behind it.

She unlocks it quickly.

There’s a quiet click.

Jonathan steps forward immediately, gripping the shelving unit and pulling it aside with a low scrape against the floor, revealing a narrow staircase leading down into darkness.

No one hesitates.

Steve gestures slightly for you to go ahead, his hand brushing briefly against your back as you start down, the others following close behind. The space shifts as you descend—cooler, quieter, the noise of the station fading above you.

Once everyone is down, Steve reaches back up, pulling the shelving unit back into place, sealing the entrance behind you.

The room below is bigger than it should be.

Not polished. Not clean. But lived-in.

Chairs that don’t match. Old tables dragged into place. Pieces of furniture that look like they’ve been borrowed, repurposed, or salvaged. It’s not much—but it’s theirs.

Their real base.

Nancy moves straight to the corner, already lifting the overhead projector into place. You follow her instinctively, helping steady it as she sets it down and slides a map across the glass.

The light flicks on.

The map spreads across the wall in front of you.

You stay beside her, close enough to follow every movement as she picks up a meter ruler, already shifting into planning mode.

Robin and Steve take seats nearby, both leaning forward slightly, while Jonathan lingers further back, arms crossed, watching.

Nancy taps the projection once.

“All right. So, assuming Murray’s intel is correct, the supply convoy is set to reach Hawkins at 10:00 sharp.”

Everyone nods.

She steps closer, ruler in hand, pointing precisely.

“Meaning I want Hopper in the tunnels and en route to MACZ no later than 9:00.”

The ruler taps firmly against the map.

You step in beside her.

“Mike and Lucas will take their usual observation post.”

Nancy continues without missing a beat, shifting the ruler across the map.

“Barring unusual traffic, I expect the convoy to reach MACZ at 10:15.”

Your eyes follow the route as she traces it.

“Once the burn starts and there’s sufficient cover, the boys will signal Hopper, who’ll make his move.”

“And now the crawl begins,” Nancy continues, guiding the ruler along the road. “Hop is now in the Upside Down, traveling at what I hope to be a gentle 30 miles an hour, which will allow—”

“…Me, you and Dustin to follow along in the Rightside Up,” you finish, glancing toward Steve.

He nods once in acknowledgment.

Nancy continues, already moving forward.

“I expect the convoy to take the same route as last month. Main to Cornwallis, one turn. But if you guys hit any red lights…”

“I’ll blow right through,” Steve says.

You immediately turn your head toward him.

“Only if there’s no MPs around,” you say firmly. “Remember, if we get pulled over, we lose Hop, we’re toast.”

Steve lifts his hands slightly.

“I got it.”

He throws you a quick wink.

Nancy continues, pointing further up the route.

“You’re gonna travel up Cornwallis for about six miles. And as the convoy reaches this Shell station here…”

“We radio Hop to disembark.”

“Which will drop Hop at the border of G1.”

Nancy steps back slightly now, a small, confident smile pulling at her expression.

“Where he’ll have two whole hours to search for Vecna, which is ample time. He’s cleared zones much faster. So, all in all, signs point to another successful crawl.”

She reaches toward the light—

“—”

Jonathan clears his throat.

Nancy pauses.

“Is there a problem?”

Jonathan shifts slightly, arms still crossed.

“Um… No. No, I mean, I think it’s good.”

You move away from the projector then, crossing the space toward Steve, who’s now sitting on the edge of a table, arms folded, clearly still thinking it through.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s good,” Steve says. “It’s really good. It’s just, um…”

Robin leans forward, picking up where he leaves off.

“Zone G1 is not that exciting or Vecna-y. What does it have? A Circuit City, a couple of houses, and a… Big Buy? What are the chances Vecna’s shopping for Lucky Charms?”

Nancy’s expression tightens slightly.

“It doesn’t matter. We stick to the plan. We break into the Upside Down the only way we can, through the MACZ gate, under the cover of a burn. Once inside, we search one zone at a time, methodically, until we figure out where he’s been hiding.”

Steve leans forward slightly.

“Unless… he’s already dead.”

You and Nancy both look at him immediately.

“Again, your plan is great,” he continues. “It’s just… This is crawl what? Are we in the 30s now? And not a single baddie in sight? El can’t find him in her bath, and Will hasn’t had his goosies since the shake ‘n’ quake.”

Jonathan frowns slightly.

“Goosies?”

“And last we saw Vecna, he was roasting like a turkey and pumped full of lead,” Steve continues. “That was before he fell three stories. So you ever think we’re scouring a battlefield that we already, like, won?”

Jonathan steps forward slightly now.

“Have you forgotten what he showed Nancy? Hawkins on fire. Karen, Holly, everyone dead.”

Steve shakes his head.

“Yeah, man. He also showed Max her brother walking around with a hole in his chest. That’s what he does. He gets in your head and tries to scare you.”

Nancy exhales sharply, frustration cutting through.

“Yeah, but he did a good job because I am scared. And you should be scared too. Because if he’s still out there, he’s planning to end our world, so—”

You step forward.

“We don’t stop looking.”

The words come out steady.

Certain.

You move closer to her, standing beside her again.

“Even if it takes 100 more crawls, 1,000. We don’t stop until we’re goddamn sure that wrinkled, nose-less, rotting bastard is dead and gone and never coming back.”

The room stills.

“Everyone in?”

Steve looks at you first.

Really looks.

Then nods.

Robin follows.

Jonathan too.

And just like that—

the plan holds.

_________________________

The light has started to change.

It’s softer now, stretching long across the ground, the sky dipping slowly toward evening. The kind of time where everything should feel quieter—winding down, settling—but instead it just sits there, heavy.

Waiting.

You stand just outside the station with Steve, Lucas, Will, and Mike, the five of you spread loosely across the gravel. No one’s really talking. No one’s moving much either. Every now and then, someone glances down the road.

Still nothing.

Your arms are folded, more out of habit than anything else, your gaze fixed somewhere past the hill, like if you look hard enough he’ll just appear.

Dustin should’ve been here by now.

He’s always here by now.

Lucas shifts beside you, already lifting the walkie-talkie again, his thumb pressing down harder than necessary.

“Dustin, this is Lucas. Do you copy? Over.”

The static crackles back at him.

Nothing else.

He exhales, trying again.

“Dustin, do you copy? Over. Dustin, you’re an hour late, man. You’re making us nervous. We need you here at the Squawk. Dustin, if you can hear us, please respond. Over.”

You glance at Steve.

He’s staring straight ahead, jaw set slightly tighter than usual, one hand resting on his hip while the other rubs absently at the back of his neck.

He doesn’t say anything.

But you can feel it.

The shift.

Footsteps break the stillness.

Robin comes rushing out from inside the station, breath slightly uneven like she’s been moving too fast, too long.

“I got off the phone with his mom,” she says quickly. “She hasn’t heard from him.”

That lands.

You feel it settle somewhere in your chest, sharper than before.

Steve exhales, running a hand through his hair.

“Christ, Henderson,” he mutters, more to himself than anyone else. 

Will adds, “He’ll show. He always shows. Try him again.”

Lucas doesn’t hesitate.

He lifts the walkie again.

“Come in, Dustin. Are you there? Earth to Dustin. This is serious, man. Quit playing. We can’t wait around.”

You shift your weight slightly, your arms tightening where they’re crossed, your eyes flicking once more toward the road.

Still nothing.

Lucas presses the button again, voice rising now.

“Get your ass to the Squawk. We can’t wait around. We need you here now. This is not funny. Are you there?”

Silence.

Static.

The kind that stretches just a little too long.

Behind you, there’s movement.

You turn.

Hopper, Joyce, and Eleven are making their way up from the direction of the tunnels, dust still clinging faintly to their clothes, the weight of what’s coming already sitting on them.

Mike doesn’t hesitate.

He takes off immediately, crossing the space quickly and pulling Eleven into a tight hug the second he reaches her, like he’s been holding that in all day.

You glance at them for a second—

then back to Lucas.

He lifts the walkie again, voice quieter this time, but no less urgent.

“Dustin… is everything okay?”

_____________________________

The van feels wrong without him.

It’s the first thing you notice the second you climb in.

You’re so used to Dustin being here—talking, explaining, adjusting things before anyone even has a chance to ask—that the quiet feels out of place. Too still. Too empty.

You settle into the passenger seat anyway, pulling the door shut as Steve slides in beside you, the engine not even started yet. For a second, neither of you says anything.

The back of the van sits open behind you, gutted completely—no seats, no clutter, just a carpeted floor lined with equipment. Wires, monitors, dials, all pieced together into something that somehow works. The telemetry tracker sits mounted among it all, designed to pick up the signal Hopper will carry in the Upside Down.

And above it—

the crank.

Dustin’s “wheelie thing.”

The one he never let you touch.

Steve glances over at you.

“You know how to use all that?” he asks, nodding toward the back.

You shake your head immediately.

“No.”

You don’t even hesitate.

“I’m usually just on comms… or lookout. Dustin never really let me near it.”

Steve exhales quietly through his nose, nodding once like that confirms exactly what he didn’t want to hear.

“Yeah. Sounds about right.”

He pushes the door open again and climbs into the back, dropping down onto the carpet and looking over the setup like he’s trying to piece it together from memory.

You twist slightly in your seat, watching him as he reaches for the crank, testing it, adjusting something near the base of it.

He knows enough.

Just not all of it.

You reach over and grab the radio Robin left for you, bringing it up as the familiar crackle comes through.

Robin’s voice follows almost immediately.

“Y/N, you getting any signal? Tag is active.”

You glance back at Steve, who’s already trying to turn the wheel.

“Yeah, just give us a second.”

The crank doesn’t move.

Steve frowns slightly, putting a bit more force into it, but it barely shifts.

You lean back slightly, calling out toward the station.

“Hey, anybody know how Henderson’s wheelie thing works?”

Robin’s voice comes back quickly.

“There should be a safety lock under the wheel.”

“Okay, hold on.”

Steve shifts, finding the latch beneath it.

“Safety lock,” he mutters. “Real necessary.”

There’s a click. Then the wheel finally gives, turning under his grip.

He adjusts it slowly, watching the dials, the monitors flickering to life with a weak, uneven signal.

He glances toward you. You bring the radio up.

“Okay. Okay, getting a signal. It’s pretty quiet, though.”

The faint pulsing begins—soft, uneven at first.

Steve keeps turning.

The signal sharpens.

The pulsing grows stronger, more consistent as the numbers climb.

“Okay,” you say, watching the readout. “Signal’s holding a steady 90 dB. I am going to have to drive.”

Steve doesn’t even look to you.“Absolutely not. Last time you drove we got pulled over by the MPs.”

You roll your eyes immediately.

“Okay, then how are we supposed to monitor this and drive without Henderson?”

There’s no answer to that.

Just the quiet weight of it sitting between you.

Dustin should be here.

Steve finally exhales, letting go of the wheel before climbing back toward the front, dropping into the driver’s seat with a slight shake of his head.

The radio crackles again.

“Jonathan is coming up.”

“Copy,” you respond, glancing toward Steve.

He lets out a breath.

“Great. That’s gonna make this experience much smoother for me.”

You give him a look.

“Steve, it’s just Jonathan. You see him every day at home.”

He rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t argue.

Just reaches for the keys, settling into place behind the wheel as he waits.

You sit beside Steve in the front, the soft hum of tracker filling the space where Dustin’s voice should’ve been. Every now and then, your eyes flick to the side mirror, then back to the station door, like that’ll somehow make Jonathan appear faster.

Steve drums his fingers once against the steering wheel, then stops, exhaling quietly as he leans back slightly in his seat.

Suddenly, the back doors creak open.

You both turn slightly.

Jonathan climbs in without a word, pulling himself up into the back and shifting quickly onto the carpeted floor, already reaching for the equipment like he doesn’t want to waste a second.

You turn just enough in your seat to watch him settle, glancing once at the dials before focusing in properly.

Steve twists slightly in his seat, leaning his arm over the back of yours so he can look at him.

“You comfortable back there, Byers?” he asks, just lightly enough to pass as casual. “Or you want me to get you a pillow?”

Jonathan doesn’t even look up as he pulls the headphones on.

“Just focus on driving.”

There’s a brief pause.

Steve presses his lips together, like he’s biting back a response, then turns back around, shaking his head slightly.

“Yeah, okay.”

He reaches forward, turning the key.

The engine rumbles properly to life this time, louder, steadier, the van shifting as he flips it into gear.

You settle back into your seat, one hand still loosely holding the radio as the van starts to move.

And just like that—

you’re rolling.

__________________________

Night settles in fully by the time you’re in position.

The van is tucked into a narrow alleyway, hidden just enough from the main road to avoid attention. The engine is off now, the quiet heavier than before, broken only by the faint crackle of the radio and the occasional distant hum of a passing vehicle somewhere beyond.

You sit in the passenger seat, radio in hand, your gaze flicking between the windshield and the side mirror out of habit. Beside you, Steve leans back slightly in his seat, one arm resting loosely near the wheel, the other holding onto a half-open pack of Boppers.

Behind you, Jonathan is crouched over the equipment, headphones on, one hand already resting on the dial, waiting.

Joyce’s voice cuts through the radio.

“Squawk to Crow’s Nest, anything? Over.”

Mike answers almost immediately. “Negative, not a peep.”

You shift slightly in your seat, your fingers tightening just a little around the radio.

“We got action. Four trucks, outer east gate on Main.”

Everyone stills.

You glance at Steve. He’s already looking forward, focused now.

A few moments pass.

“Burn commencing in five, four, three, two, and boom!”

The word lands with a weight you can almost feel.

“Trucks moving in.”

There’s a beat.

“Am I clear?” Hopper’s voice comes through.

“East is clear.”

“And to the west?”

“We got a straggler.”

A pause.

“Clear.”

Another second passes—

“He’s in.”

You lean forward slightly without thinking. “He’s flipped.”

Joyce’s voice comes through again, sharper now.

“Y/N, are you guys getting a signal?”

Behind you, Jonathan moves immediately, turning the dial, adjusting the tracker as the faintest crackle begins to bleed through the speakers.

He glances up giving you a quick thumbs up.

You bring the radio up. “Snagged it.”

Steve glances at you, then up into the rearview mirror, watching Jonathan work.

“Should I move?”

Jonathan’s voice comes from the back, focused.

“No. Hold.”

The signal is faint.

Uneven.

“Hold.”

It strengthens slightly.

“Hold.”

Steve takes another bite of the Bopper, chewing loudly.

The pulsing grows sharper.

“Hold—”

A beat—

“Go!”

Steve reacts instantly, throwing the van into gear. The engine roars to life as he pulls out of the alleyway and onto the road, following the route they’d mapped out earlier.

You steady yourself slightly, lifting the radio.

“Van is on the move.”

“Good, good. Okay, hard part’s over,” Joyce says.

Hopper lets out a small breath through the radio.

“I mean, speak for yourself. I still gotta jump out of this thing. And is it me, or are we moving faster than normal?”

“A little faster. Just aim for the grass.”

“I was gonna go for the asphalt, but now that you mention the grass—”

The sound cuts.

Something sharp bursts through the radio—loud, sudden.

You flinch slightly, your head snapping toward Steve.

Joyce’s voice comes through immediately.

“What’s going on? Hopper?”

Behind you, Jonathan’s movements change.

“We’re losing him!”

Steve’s grip tightens on the wheel.

“Wait, what?”

You grab Steve’s arm. “Steve—wait! Stop! Stop!”

He doesn’t hesitate.

The brakes slam hard, the van lurching forward as he pulls off to the side of the road. The sudden stop sends everything shifting slightly, the equipment rattling behind you as Jonathan immediately adjusts the dial again, trying to catch the signal before it disappears completely.

For a second—

nothing.

Then—

The pulsing returns.

Stronger.

“We got him.”

Jonathan exhales, the tension breaking just slightly as he looks toward the front.

You don’t realize how hard you were holding your breath until it comes back, your shoulders dropping as you glance at Steve.

He exhales too, a short, relieved huff, before looking back toward the road, still not moving yet.

“Hopper, do you copy? Hopper!” Joyce calls.

“Yeah, I copy.”

“What the hell happened?”

“I don’t know. We just slammed to a stop.”

You glance between Steve and Jonathan. “Why would they stop?”

The answer doesn’t come.

Instead—

the radio distorts.

A low, disorienting sound pushes through, warping the signal.

Then—

roaring.

Screaming.

Voices breaking apart into something unrecognisable.

The sound crackles, stretches, tears through the speakers as the signal begins to spike wildly.

Your grip tightens around the radio.

“What the hell is happening?!”

You turn toward Steve, your expression tightening, the worry no longer subtle.

At the same time, the van reacts.

Lights flicker.

The equipment behind you starts going erratic, dials jumping, the tracker spiking in uneven bursts.

Steve turns sharply in his seat.

“What the hell’s happening, man?”

Jonathan shakes his head, eyes locked on the readings as they shift too fast to follow.

“I don’t know.”

And then—

nothing settles.

Nothing resolves.

Just the sound of everything going wrong.

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

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