After having more dreams about you than he can count, you and Steve finally take the first step and have sex. It's almost too perfect to be true, if only you wouldn't break out into giggles every time.
"No way, Robert Redford was definitely the right choice." Your hand drew into the crinkly bag of popcorn, shoving a few past your lips. Steve looked at you quizzically and you frowned.
"What? Why are you looking at me like that?"
Steve shrugged. "Just thought you were more of a Swayze girl." He popped a few kernels into his own mouth, reaching for the Pepsi that was placed in his drink holders. You were both sitting in his beamer, the Hawkin's drive in cinema giving an early screening of an indecent proposal.
This wasn't the first date you had been on with Steve. Over the past weeks the two of you had spent every possible second together, slowly getting used to the idea of dating. You loved hanging out with him, especially since you had already done that a lot before the vocal booth incident. Holding Steve's hand while walking down the main road and past the various store, felt oddly familiar and comfortable. It felt like a bonus, doing things with him you already did all the time, except you could kiss him in between.
You hadn't put a label on it yet, dancing around the official terms of boyfriend and girlfriend but you didn't mind. You'd rather take things slow, making sure that whatever this was, wasn't a fluke. Little did you know Steve had been dreaming about this for a long time and any time your hand reached for his over the table at Enzo's his heart did a little flip.
He was addicted to you. Trailing you at the Squawk until Robin would scold him and tell him to do his job. Calling you late at night just because he felt like hearing your voice and staying on the line until you both fell asleep. He'd always been attentive but now he was allowed to act on his feelings which made it all the more better.
And the kissing, god the kissing was addictive. He'd pull you into the storage unit any time he could at work, claiming your lips hurriedly. You'd chuckle, pushing him away gently. "We're literally at work. Robin is right behind that door."
His lips would trail down your neck, sucking gently at the skin and eliciting that dangerous sound from your throat. "So?"
"So, it's totally inappropriate," you chuckled again, fingers hooking into his belt loops.
But so far it never did go further than third base. Once, Robin had been on an errand run and Steve was bored, since her records were playing. You were musing over the finances when Steve strode into the office, all feverish skin and dangerous eyes.
He'd made you cum in a matter of minutes, your hands clutching the wooden desk as he sucked at your neck, knuckle deep inside your cunt.
But so far there never had been the right moment for...more.
"I do like me some Swayze but Robert is perfect for this role. He's got that old money look," You mumbled, eyes fixed on the screen.
"So, would you do it?" Steve's eyes were focused on you while you only listened with one ear.
"Hmm?" Your hand reached over but Steve caught your wrist. You looked at him in surprise.
"Would you take the offer?" Steve asked curiously, head tilted.
"Steve," you only rolled your eyes, tugging at your wrist but he wouldn't let go.
"Just answer the question, come on."
"Of course I wouldn't. Don't be silly." You were still smiling, your cheeks flushing slightly. Steve relaxed a little and you couldn't help but laugh.
"Were you that worried?" You tilted your head curiously.
Steve flushed and looked back at the screen. "No."
The popcorn bag rustled lightly in his grip and the movie was already forgotten in your mind. "You know I should be the one feeling threatened, Demi Moore is a total babe."
Steve frowned, shrugging nonchalantly. "I guess."
"Oh come on," you huffed a laugh. "Remember I was the one who found that magazine of Phoebe Cates in your room when we were sixteen."
Steve turned to look at you. "What has that got to do with anything?"
"Demi Moore is totally your type," you snorted. It didn't bother you, of course it didn't. Having celebrity crushes was fine, it was normal in your opinion because it wasn't real. What was real was you and Steve, together. You reached over the middle console and gently grabbed his hand, intertwining your fingers.
Steve looked at you when you raised your hands to your mouth, pressing a soft kiss against his knuckles. His eyes were molten sugar, features softening as he watched you.
"What was that for?" He asked.
You shrugged. "I just felt like it."
Steve didn't let go of your hand again as you relaxed into your seats. You couldn't help yourself, keeping the small comment floating in your mind. "You do know though that in that scenario you'd be Robert Redford, right?"
Steve's eyes met yours, cheeks tinging pink once again. You loved that color on him. "I-I would?"
You couldn't help but grin slightly, watching his eyes dip down slowly. "Totally."
The air crackled between you and that familiar pulse roared back to life in your core. Steve was almost frozen, eyes never leaving your face as his hand neatly folded the half filled popcorn bag, before carefully stashing it away.
You frowned confused but then he tugged you over the console by your intertwined hands.
"What—" you squealed as he pulled you into his lap, lips finding yours like you were his true north. He swallowed the sound of surprise, hands finding your waist eagerly. Your hands found his hair, tugging at his scalp and little zings shot down Steve's back. His hips bucked up eagerly, jeans dragging against jeans as he felt himself harden.
"Fuck," you cursed as he trailed hot, open-mouthed kisses along your skin, tasting you until you were ingrained in his brain. His tummy was burning with desire like it always did when you were near him.
"I've been thinking about this the whole day," Steve murmured against your skin. The tips of his fingers trailed beneath your thick sweater, goosebumps rising on your skin. When his hands met the lace of your bra he groaned, head tipping forward to bury in your neck for a moment. He didn't want to embarrass himself and cum in his pants, panting for a few seconds.
Your nails scratched slowly along his scalp. "You had another dream?" You couldn't help but tease and Steve groaned.
"Shut up," he murmured against your skin, pecking you right above your thundering pulse.
You pressed your grin against his temple, nails running down his neck and into the collar of his sweater. Steve shivered, groaning as if you were torturing him. "What was it about?" You pressed. "Tell me."
Steve pulled you back a little to glare up at you. "You're doing this on purpose aren't you?"
You grinned cheekily. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Uh-huh. Of course you don't." He pressed his lips back against yours, tongue dipping out to taste you. You sighed, opening up for him as his hands cupped your tits over the lace of your bra.
"Steve," you murmured. "Steve, we're in the drive-in parking lot."
"I know." He was kissing you hungrily, spit drawing between your tongues and lips, wet sounds echoing over the voices of the movie. His hips were moving quicker, pulling you down against his thickening cock.
"Steve," you warned. Steve groaned, hands pulling out from under your sweater.
"I know." He carefully pulled your clothes back into place.
"I could come over tonight?" You offered with a gentle smile, smoothing his hair back into place.
Steve flushed again at the tender look on your face and nodded almost shyly. As if his cock wasn't currently pressing into you. "Y-yeah, yeah. I'd like that... a lot. I’ve got, like… a couch. Or a bed. I mean—not like—I just— yeah.”
You chuckled, leaning forward to place a quick peck to his lips. Sometimes he got like this at the strangest moments, not when his fingers were knuckle deep inside you but rather when you were soft and gentle and looking at him like he hung the moon.
"Sounds great."
*
Steve was completely and utterly out of his depth. For crying out loud he was acting like this was his first time having a chick over. It wasn't like he was nervous to be intimate, on closer inspection he might've been, but he just didn't want to mess anything up.
You were different. You were his friend and he feared he liked you a lot, so much that he was turning into a bumbling, nervous mess.
"This is...yeah this is—you know the place. You've been here before," he mumbled, scratching the back of his head. You'd spend most of your childhood here, knew every nook and every corner like the back of your hand.
"Relax," you said softly, pulling him after you up the stairs to get to his room. "It's not like I'm gonna have sex with you."
Steve choked on his next breath, coughing a little while you still pulled him after you.
"You're terrible," he said at the grin you were shooting him. You both trailed into his childhood bedroom that still hadn't changed a bit apart from the pictures on his dresser. Steve watched you float over to the newer picture frames, eyes moving carefully.
There was one of him and Robin, Dustin shot it back when they were still working at Family Video and had to wear those stupid vests. There were a few of the kids, one of Nancy and Jonathan that he shot when they bought their first apartment together. And then there was one of you. You didn't recognize the captured moment but you were a few years younger, looking up into the camera with a shy smile.
You turned around to find Steve in the middle of the room, watching you closely. Your heart pounded heavily at the look he was giving you, full of devotion and admiration. Your steps were slow, deliberate as you walked over to him. Your knuckles brushed his gently as you got on your tip toes, lips brushing over his.
The kiss was slow, tongues tasting, breath hushed and secretive. Your hands found solace on his tummy slowly pushing him back toward his bed. The back of his knees hit his mattress and he went willingly, staring up at you as you climbed onto his lap.
"This okay?" You asked and he nodded quickly before huffing a laugh. "More than okay."
You sat down with a small smile, kissing him slowly, reverently. You wanted to cherish every single kiss and Steve was more than happy to oblige. Soft groans fell from his lips as you took charge, his hands lifting your sweater until you raised your arms so he could take it off.
Your arms covered in goosebumps as a sharp breath left his parted lips. He eyed the bra pushing up your tits perfectly, a hard swallow moving his throat. "Gosh, you're beautiful."
You flushed slightly, kissing his lips again before he could mutter another word. There was something full in your chest, making your tummy flip with every gentle touch of Steve and every stolen kiss. His hands shook as they trailed over your spine reverently, fingers playing with the clasp of your bra.
With a swift move, Steve unlatched it and pulled the straps down your arms. Before Steve could mutter any more embarrassing words, he moved, his lips kissing down your throat, tongue against your skin as he slowly made his way to your nipple. When his hot mouth closed around it you moaned, back arching in pleasure.
"Steve."
He shuddered as you sighed his name, teeth nipping and urging your hips forward. Your hands gripped his shoulders hastily, pulling him closer. You could feel his fingers fiddle with the button of your jeans as he traced open-mouthed kisses against your skin. What you didn't know was that Steve's hands had been trembling the moment the two of you walked into his room.
His heart was pounding erratically against his ribcage and he was short from hyperventilating. You felt good, more than good—fantastic—beneath his hands. Still, Steve was scared to do something or say something that could tip this delicate thing you two had down into the drain.
When he finally managed to push the button of your jeans through the loop he looked down. "Jesus," the word tumbled past his lips as the edge of your lace panties peeked out of the denim.
"What?" Your voice was soft, hands in the waves of his hair. Steve looked up at you again, eyes molten and soft.
"Just a little surreal," he murmured, leaning up to catch your lips again. You bit gently at the plump flesh of his bottom lip, feeling his groan vibrate through you.
His kisses turned more urgent, lips pressing harder, hips moving in a needy, senseless rhythm. Before you knew it your back hit the mattress and Steve was hovering above you, running a hand through his hair—a nervous tell he'd developed over time.
His eyes were jumping nervously until you hooked one leg around his hips, pulling him closer. Skin to skin. Steve lowered himself almost deftly as if he was scared of breaking you, his kisses slow and precise, his hands gentle as they trailed down your ribs.
Goosebumps covered your skin as the sheets rustled beneath your body. You wanted him closer, needed him closer. Steve puffed a surprised sound against your skin as your hands found the dents in his back pulling him closer. You could feel his tip bumping against your tummy and the most horrifying thing happened. You laughed.
Steve froze above you, pulling slightly back to look down at you. "Did you just—"
"Nope." Your eyes widened in surprise. "That was just—I was surprised."
Steve looked unsure but still nodded, leaning back down to kiss you. When you felt his erection press against you again, wet and leaking, it was even worse. You laughed again.
Steve huffed, pulling back to hover over you. "Are you laughing at me?"
"No," you couldn't help but chuckle, your hands flying up to cover your mouth in shock. Steve watched your eyes widen, something shriveling up inside him. With a huff he flopped down on the mattress beside you, staring up at the ceiling.
"Was it—did I do something wrong?" He hated that his voice shook. You quickly rolled over, pressing into his side, before placing a gentle kiss agains the edge of his jaw.
"No, of course not. I'm sorry. It just caught me off guard."
"It?" Both your gazes trailed down to his lap and Steve flushed scarlet. His hands went for his boxers but you stopped him, straddling him.
"I'm sorry, genuinely." You leaned down, kissing him sweetly. Steve's hands found your hips, even though he still felt wounded and embarrassed.
"I just—we've been friends for so long and apparently my mind is not catching to my body," you mumbled against his lips.
"You were doing just fine when I...you know, in the office last week." Steve flushed as he tried to explain and you shrugged.
"I had my eyes closed that was different."
Steve groaned horrified, throwing an arm over his glowing face. "Are you telling me you can only have sex with me if you don't see my face?"
You chuckled, gently prying his arm off his face. "Of course not. I love your face. It's lovely." You pecked his nose.
"Do you think it's not gonna work?" Steve asked sheepishly. "That you don't feel...you know attracted to me. Sexually."
You sat up again, his cock still fully hard beneath you. "Nonsense." You looked down at your hands, trailing down his sides as goosebumps pebbled his skin. "I find you plenty attractive." Your eyes trailed over the hair connecting from his chest all the way down his stomach. You leaned down, trailing soft kisses along his body, his tummy dipping in a soft groan when your tongue dragged along his happy trail.
"Didn't—fuck—didn't seem like it," Steve said breathlessly. His hand carefully putting your hair behind your back, before trailing up and cupping the back of your head.
"Are you fishing for compliments?" You looked up at him from where you were worshipping his happy trail, hand moving backwards to find his hard cock, pumping once.
"Ugh—fuck—no. I would never." His lips tipped up in a small smirk. You pumped him a few times, pre cum leaking along your soft strokes as you shifted your body.
"Of course not." You shook your head at him before shifting your hips. Steve held his breath as you lined him up, fingers digging into the flesh of your hips.
"Careful, I—ughh" Steve threw his head back when you sunk down on him. Oh fuck. You were so wet and warm and perfect Steve was tempted to cum then and there. "Just—wait—wait for a moment."
You obliged for once but not without clenching around him and Steve glared at you. "Not helping."
You smiled cheekily. "Never said I was helpful."
Steve squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, the picture of you above him, tits offered to him like in fucking prayer. When you clucked your tongue his eyes snapped open and he saw the realization dawn on your face. "This is like your dream isn't it?"
"No—"
"Oh fuck, it is." The smile on your face was gleeful as you shifted, dragging slightly along his cock and Steve shivered. He gripped your hips and sat you back down harshly eliciting a soft moan from you. "I didn't tell you about the dream so you could mock me," Steve huffed. He couldn't believe you were having a full on conversation while he was buried inside you. His cock twitched at the picture and he groaned again.
"I'm not mocking. Only obliging." You leaned down, tongue catching his in your mouth. Steve relaxed slightly as he tasted that sweet taste of yours, his grip on you loosening. You took one of his hands and trailed them up your tummy and over your tit. Steve squeezed carefully, thumb drawing over your nipple and you bowed into his touch. "Can I move?" You whined impatiently and Steve nodded deftly.
A moment later you were lifting your hips, all the way up until only his tip was inside you. Steve looked down and already regretted it as he watched you slide back down on his cock. "Fuck that's hot."
You laughed breathily as you settled into a slow but steady rhythm. Steve watched you only for a moment, eyes burning with undialed feelings. His hand drew between your bodies, thumb finding your clit easily and asserting pressure.
"Oh fuck." You bit your lip until you tasted blood, eyes glazed over as you stared down at Steve. He was beautifully flushed, hips itching to pump upwards but he didn't want to cum too fast.
The bed started to creak under your quickening rythm, headboard slamming against the wall again and again.
"Fuck I need to—" Steve groaned and you nodded. You shifted your body forward, hands on the mattress beside his head as your lips grazed his. "Go on."
There always had been an understanding between the two of you. Conversations without words as you stared at each other from across the room. Who would've known it would've been the same when you were having sex?
Steve shifted until he had enough leverage, his arms wrapping around you as his hips started to move. You both groaned when he started to fuck up into you, coil drawing tighter and tighter. The sound of skin slapping mingled with wet kisses, spit clinging to skin and lips.
"Steve," you whined and he shifted on instinct. Your hips tilted forward, clit dragging against his coarse hair with every thrust of his cock inside you. He could feel you drawing closer, walls fluttering dangerously.
"I know, I know. Almost there," he huffed, lips drawing messily along your neck.
He kept pushing, deeper and deeper, hips slanting to press against the right spot inside you. You cried out the moment he shifted, lips along his clavicle until you bit down. Hard.
"Oh fuck, fuck—I'm gonna—" With three more sloppy thrusts, Steve buried himself deep inside you, groaning. You were still shuddering as he stopped and as dazed as he was, Steve drew his hand between your bodies, circling your clit sloppily as long as you were coming. Your pussy squeezed around him again and Steve groaned, hips pushing but there was no way to go anymore as he bottomed out.
Your forehead pressed against his chest for a moment, soft puffs of breath making Steve shiver.
"You all right?" Steve asked, hands trailing along your spine.
"Uh-huh." You mumbled, pressing a lazy kiss right over his heart.
"I can't believe you laughed," Steve sighed and another set of chuckles racked through you. You looked up at him, satiated, eyes soft. "I think I love you."
The words slipped past your lips as if they were inevitable. Of course you loved him. You always did. You just never realized how much. The look on Steve's face was something you'd never seen before. It was so tender and vulnerable you were scared you'd broken him. He lifted your body higher, so you were hovering above his face.
The kiss was tender, barely there. Just a graze of his lips against yours but it was the most beautiful and sacred thing you'd ever felt. Steve looked at you, arms drawing tight as if he wanted to meld your two bodies together. "I love you," he murmured. You buried your face in the crook of his neck, body growing sleepy and pliant. You wondered if this was it. The thing people longed for every day. Like a bubble had wrapped around you and Steve, fierce and protective, two pieces falling together that had been meant to be for a long time.
Steve has a sex dream of his co-worker, aka his best friend, and now he can’t face you without blushing up until his ears.
18+
part 2
Even though I hate how this turned out I spent way too much time on this to just leave it in my drafts. On that note, enjoy!
Steve Harrington wouldn’t generally call himself an overly sexual person. He enjoyed going on dates—when there was anyone interested—and usually it would lead to a certain amount of intimacy that he invited. But it never felt like he had to have sex with his dates. He enjoyed going to the cinema, sharing a meal, holding hands, listening to his partner. To cut it short, Steve was a romantic. He'd go as far as saying that he preferred secret glances, and grazing fingers. Feeling loved was what he kept craving.
Color him surprised when one night his usual restful sleep gets disturbed with something hot and filthy. Steve didn’t remember how the dream started, the edges blurry, the lines uneven. He just knew he was aching, that familiar burn low in his tummy, blood traveling into his hardening cock.
His lashes fluttered as he looked up, warm thighs spreading over his lap and a hand wrapped around his aching cock.
"Oh fuck," Steve groaned, eyes falling shut as the back of his head met his pillows.
“You’ve been so good for me this week.”
And just like that his eyes snapped open, staring right into your face. What—?
Steve choked on his words, body trying to move but your thighs shackled him in position, hand not letting up. Soon, pleasure clouded his thinking skills or else there would’ve been questions tumbling past his lips. For example, why in the world you were stroking his cock in the way he liked? Hand drawing tighter the closer you got to his tip, squeezing the bead of pre cum over his length.
“That good?” Your voice asked gently and Steve nodded, as if you couldn’t tell from the desperate groans spilling past his pink lips.
“I know how hard you’ve been working.” You bit your lip, thighs shifting slightly until you positioned yourself right over him. “You deserve to feel good tonight.”
“I do?” Steve gasped as you sunk down easily. As if the both of you had done this a hundred times. He watched your head fall back, throat exposed to him, tits pushed out. He couldn’t help himself. His hands reached out, fingers squeezing gently and it felt so real, Steve was short of cumming without you even having to move.
“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” his voice was rough and you whined as your hips rocked forward, clit dragging deliciously against his pelvis.
He was so deep inside you he could see the indentation of his cock pressing against your tummy. His left hand wandered from your nipple down to your tummy, pressing lightly. His hips bucked as he felt his cock press form the inside and his eyes rolled back into his head.
“You fill me up so good.” You kept rocking against him, hips lifting and falling and Steve was quick to help you. His hips jerked up continuously, the sound of slapping skin echoing around the two of you. Steve had never felt this hard before, he was practically aching with being buried inside you, touching you, hearing those small little whimpers falling from your lips.
Your hand met his, intertwining as you shifted forward. You kissed him messily, spit and tongue and everything in between rushing up to the surface. One arm of his wound around your waist, lifting you easily so he could fuck up into you.
“You don’t know how often I thought of this,” the words slipped past his tongue pathetically but at this point he didn’t care. He was reduced to his most animal instinct, his only strive to cum. And you let him. You sucked at his neck, nails scratching over his skin as he groaned, pace picking up, wetness pooling between your bodies. It was obscene and it was perfect.
Steve could feel his heart soar with the new feeling, his thumb drawing between your bodies and over your clit. Your back bowed in response, moan falling from your lips and there it was. He was almost there, he only needed to—
Steve sat up in his bed with a quiet gasp. The deafening silence of his room only focused his senses. His breathing ragged, body covered in sweat as he blinked until he got used to the darkness. His hand reached out only to feel for empty sheets. A dream.
Only after a moment he noticed that he was painfully hard. He didn’t dare touch himself not after that dream. You were his coworker, his friend, he wasn’t allowed to think of you like that. Especially not if he’s been pining after you for the past couple months.
Hours later the dream was still playing in his mind as he pushed through the doors of The Squawk radio station. His cheeks were flushed from the cold, lips turned downward. It was that time of the year when the sun was already setting at the ripe time of five pm, plunging the world into darkness.
Rocket Robin was softly playing from the speakers hanging from the walls and Robin waved through the glass when he walked inside. His eyes were already roaming, searching and finding you like a compass found its north. The breath got punched out of his lungs as he caught you, wobbling dangerously on a the creaky chair you'd pushed in front of the record wall. You were too busy hanging up the colorful lights to notice his eyes trail up your burgundy-tights-clad-legs you'd paired with a skirt so criminally short, Steve felt tempted to stone himself.
"Jesus," Steve huffed.
"Huh?" You turned, legs twisting and sending the chair wobbling. "Fuck."
Steve lurched forward in a panic, arms wrapping around your legs as the chair went tumbling beneath your feet. For a short moment you were suspended in air until his arms wrapped around your legs, your body sliding for a moment, your skirt pushed up around your hips. Your hands pressed into the tight muscle of his shoulders, lips parted in surprise as you stared down at him.
"Well, if that's not an entrance," you teased, barely noticing the dangerous glint in Steve's eyes as he quickly put you back to your feet on the ground.
"Why are you doing this on your own?" Steve frowned unhappily as he pretended to not see you adjust your skirt.
"You want Robin to hold my hand while I hang up Christmas lights?" You arched a brow, already pulling the chair back into place.
"If that means you won't crack your skull open on the ground, yes."
You turned around in surprise at the grumpy answer but Steve refused to look at you. He looked strangely flushed, a little rumpled in your opinion. You tilted your head curiously, glossy lips turning into a slight pout. "What's wrong?"
Steve looked at you then, eyes dipping to your lips only for a moment, a hard swallow moving his Adam's apple. "Nothing. What should be wrong?"
"You're being grumpier than usual," you noted, climbing back onto the red cushion of the chair. Steve moved in almost automatically, without looking at you, to grip the rest of the chair.
"Didn't sleep good," he grumbled as your body stretched almost temptingly. What had he done in his life to deserve this?
"Nightmare?" You had already turned around, fussing over the lights again. Steve couldn't help himself, his eyes drifting back to those tights, the back of your thighs right in front of his eyes. The skirt lifted right over the curve of your—
"Hmm, something like that." This was wrong on multiple levels and he was aware but something about that dream made it impossible to ignore. He'd always been aware of you, he cared for you. Steve was no one who did things halfway and for once he wished he did. Having feelings for you was one thing but this, this would make things only more complicated.
"You could've called me, I would've come over." You breathed a little heavier, rising on your tip toes to pin the lights to the wall.
"And done what? I think I can handle a nightmare."
You looked at him from above, frowning slightly. He still didn't look at you, face turned, jaw clenching. Carefully, you stepped off the stool and Steve was back to towering above you. "We could've talked."
Your frown deepened and you weren't you if you didn't let this off the hook. You took his chin in your hand, turning his face so he'd be forced to look at you. "If this is about the upside down, you know you can talk to me. I can't sleep most of the nights either."
You could feel his skin heating under your touch for a moment and you rarely saw Steve flustered in your friendship but that was the only word for what was surely happening. Was he embarrassed about having nightmares?
You softened in empathy. "Talk to me, Steve."
His lips parted, eyes softening slightly but before he could confess, Robin appeared out of nowhere. "Hey, dingus, stop flirting and help me out, would you?"
Steve spluttered, your hand falling from his face as he turned to glare at Robin. "That's not what I'm doing."
"Sure, you're not. Whatever it is you're doing, move your ass into the booth and do the job you're being paid for, why don't you?" Her lips pulled into a slight grin as she watched the redness taint his cheeks.
"I'll make you your coffee." You squeezed his arm while walking past him towards the kitchenette. Steve's gaze followed you like a lone puppy before he got pulled into the cubicle by Robin.
"At this point the whole of Hawkins knows you're into each other," Robin muttered as she sat back down on her chair.
"I don't know what you're talking about." Steve got rid of his jacket, hands already rummaging through the cassettes he'd left the prior evening.
"Oh come on, it's sickening to watch you two dance around each other like teenagers." Robin pulled a face. "Last week you wrapped your scarf around her neck before she left and I think I threw up a little in my mouth."
Steve looked at Robin with a disturbed face. "What is wrong with you?"
"I am sick of watching you pretend like you don't want to rip each other's clothes off any time you're in the same room." Robin shifted, elbow pressing into the desk lazily as she watched him with hawk eyes.
"We're friends. We've always been friends, it's purely platonic."
Robin snorts. "When was the last time you were in a platonic relationship with a girl?"
Steve's lips parted at the insult, ready to defend himself but it took him longer than he anticipated. "Nancy and I are friends."
Robin scoffed. "Yeah, and how did that start?"
Steve waved her off. "What do you know? This is different, we practically knew each other since playing in the sandbox together."
"Let me guess, you're the one who pulled her pigtails." Robin looked awfully smug and Steve was done letting her bully him.
"There you go," you rushed into the space, arm brushing Steve's as you put his coffee mug down, it was one you got him for Christmas a few years ago, the porcelain already chipped but he refused getting rid of it.
He flushed again as you looked between him and Robin for a moment. "What?"
"Did you ever wear pigtails as a child?" Robin questioned with a grin and you blinked confused.
"Robin," Steve warned.
"It's just a question!"
"What kind of question is that?" You asked confused, pushing Steve's mug closer to his fingers.
"You know, just a question, forget about it," Steve waved it off but Robin seemed determined to make his life harder than it already was.
"How many platonic friendships with guys would you say you have?" Robin needled and you frowned.
"Are you feeling all right, Rob?"
"Just answer the question."
Before you could Steve was steering you out of their booth. "She has better things to do, Robin. Right?" He looked at you as he steered you into the hallway.
"Uh yeah, I guess. I have to look over the finances but I'm sure we can get that The Queen is dead vinyl, you want so much," you told Robin while Steve already escorted you out. Before Robin could answer he slammed the door shut behind them, muffling their words.
You still stood there partly confused. It seemed like they were in a heated argument, hands gesticulating wildly as Steve closed his eyes in irritation. They would do this a lot. You were sure they didn't do it on purpose but ever since Steve befriended Robin, your friendship had shifted with him. You were not a jealous person and you were definitely fine with him having other girl friends. But sometimes it felt like they were talking about you behind closed doors, maybe you were just being paranoid.
With a sigh you turned and busied yourself with your work, trying not to think about the fact the old Steve would've called you after a nightmare. You certainly did. Lately it felt like you needed him more than he did you.
*
In the passing week you kept catching Robin and Steve seemingly arguing about god knew what, always quieting up when you showed up. The pit inside your stomach grew with Steve's continuous strange behavior. He'd barely look at you and if he did it looked like he was suffering from an aneurysm.
Once your hands had brushed as you passed him his cup of coffee and he somehow managed to drop it on the ground, spilling hot coffee all over his skin.
"Fuck," Steve jumped away, hissing as he shook his hand. "Did it get you?" His eyes scanned you quickly as you shook your head, looking down at the shattered mug. It was the one you got him.
"I'll get some paper towels—"
"No, let me do it. You'll cut yourself." He ushered you away but when you looked back, Robin was helping him clean up the mess with a smirk on her lips. Steve's face had grown redder and redder with every whispered word of hers.
You didn't want to mention it. You definitely didn't want to be the annoying friend that acted all jealous because she got left out. Steve was allowed to have his secrets. Even if he never had any from you before.
It was Friday night, the hand of the clock ticking closer and closer to the two as Robin called your name. You were ready to pack up and fall into your bed, trying to forget the day. It had processed similarly. Whispered words between Robin and Steve while the latter avoided you at every corner.
"What's up?" You popped into the booth. Steve was nowhere in sight, while Robin was handling the record player.
"I left a box of vinyls in the vocal booth, could you get that for me? I'll close in the meantime," Robin said and you nodded.
You pushed the door open to the vocal booth properly, waiting for the clicking sound. Keith had been talking about fixing it for the past weeks since it would only open from the outside once it fell shut.
You walked carefully around lain out cables and guitars, spotting the blue box labelled accordingly. Bending down to grab it, you heard approaching steps, turning when you heard Steve's words.
"I'm not your servant Robin, why don't you—" Steve stopped talking surprised when he saw you bend over. His cheeks did their now familiar thing, flushing dangerously.
"What are you doing? Let me get that, it's heavy." He rushed inside, knocking into the door on his way like he was drunk and your eyes widened.
You straightened, arm reaching out. "Steve, the door!"
He turned in panic, pressing forward but he was too slow. The door shut with a deafening click and you stared at it with parted lips. Steve walked forward jiggling the handle but of course the door wouldn't budge. It hadn't been for weeks.
"Fuck," Steve cursed, fist reaching out to pound against the padding.
"She's not gonna hear you," you huffed. "It's sound proofed and she was just closing up."
Steve turned slowly, eyes wild looking, cheeks flushed.
“It’s fine, she’s not gonna close the station without waiting for us. You’re driving her home, forgot?” Thinking that he was panicking about being stuck in a windowless room you try to reassure him.
His breaths were coming quickly, eyes staring blankly at the wall behind you.
“Steve,” you pressed and he looked at you. “We’re going to be fine. She won’t leave without us.”
Steve flushed, glancing away before drawing his hands into his hair, tugging at the roots. “Fuck, I’m gonna kill her.”
You watched him confused. “Who?”
“Robin,” he muttered as he started pacing.
“Steve, what’s going on?” You took a cautious step towards him, hand reaching out to touch him but he flinched away. You froze, breath catching at his reaction.
“Sorry, I’m just jumpy.”
“Yeah,” you muttered but drew even further away. Steve noticed, of course he did. He didn’t know how to fix this without telling you the truth but telling the truth would only make things worse.
“I’m sorry,” Steve said a little more genuinely, taking a few slow steps towards you.
“This is not your fault.”
You frowned at Steve’s grimace.
“Do you think it’s your fault?” You questioned. He shot you a guilty look.
“Robin has been nagging me about dodging you,” he admitted almost sheepishly and a sharp zing shot through your chest. So he was avoiding you. You weren’t imagining things.
“Why does she think that?”
Steve pushed his hands in his pockets, shrugging. “Maybe because I have.”
You nodded.
“Don’t—don’t do that,” Steve grimaced. “Don’t act all nice and understanding like I haven’t been a total ass this week.”
“You probably had your reasons,” you said softly. That didn’t mean it hadn’t hurt. But sometimes people weren’t in a good mood and needed distance and you were good at giving someone space. Maybe a little too good.
“I did,” Steve said. “But they aren’t good enough. Anyway, she thinks we need to talk it out.”
His words registered only slowly but when they did your eyes widened. “You’re saying she sent us in here on purpose?”
Steve’s flush spread down his neck as he looked away.
“Just because she wanted you to stop avoiding me?” You huffed. “I always knew that girl is committed.”
Steve couldn’t help himself but laugh quietly. You watched him closely, the way he was still wound up tight. Like whatever it was that was bothering him had somehow followed him into this room with nowhere to escape.
“So when do you think she’s gonna let us out?” You wondered. “She won’t hear if we’re talking again or not.”
Steve shrugged. “It’s Robin she probably didn’t think that far.”
The both of you chuckled. You sat down on the ground, back leaning against the padding of the wall. “She could’ve at least brought a record player or something to pass the time.”
Steve watched you closely, brows knitting. “Are you not gonna ask?”
“What?”
“Why I’ve been—you know…acting weird.”
You crossed your ankles as you watched him. “When have I ever pushed you about something?”
He grew quiet then as if contemplating something. After a moment he walked over and sat down beside you, thigh pressing against yours. The familiar tingling of pleasure shot through you as you felt his body touch yours. You turned your head to look at him.
“You don’t owe me an explanation, Steve.”
His eyes met yours, all big and brown like molten honey and you felt tempted to melt into a puddle right beside him. You wanted him to explain, of course you did. More than anything. But you also didn’t want to push him on something he wasn’t ready to share with you.
“What if I want to explain?” He almost sounded desperate like whatever was weighing on his chest needed to be purged.
“Then that’s up to you.” You smiled.
Steve sighed, head thrown back against the wall, eyes falling shut. For a moment the room was so silent you could only hear his breath. You watched his chest rise steadily, eyes trailing up the column of his throat over his slightly parted lips and the bridge of his nose.
Your thigh pressed against his a little harder, pressure building inside you. At your shifting body Steve opened his eyes looking back at you.
“Did I do something?” You asked. “That made you feel like you couldn’t talk to me?”
“What? No!” He shook his head quickly, body turning. You mourned the loss of his thigh against yours the moment he moved. “You didn’t do anything wrong, god you couldn’t. You’re perfect, always perfect—Jesus—more than perfect.”
Your brows raised as Steve practically stumbled into his next words. “It’s me. I’ve been terrible. It only started with one dream but then it send me spiraling and I wouldn’t shut an eye. I tried to stay awake—believe me, I tried—but then I started to picture it during the day—“
He was gesticulating wildly. “Which I know is totally wrong—so wrong of me. I could understand if you’d feel disgusted by me, I mean I feel disgusted. And then Robin said I needed to tell you or else it would never go away.”
You genuinely tried following his thoughts but he jumped so quickly without saying anything really that you just stared at little confused—and a little scared.
“Tell me what?”
Steve’s eyes dipped again, his chest rising rapidly. You could see the though shift in his eyes, reflecting what you’d been feeling for so long.
“Oh.” You exhaled as you met the look in his eyes. “Oh.”
“Wait—you said dreams?” You questioned.
Steve flushed again and you reached out, fingertips grazing over his cheek. “Don’t do that,” Steve groaned. “It’s gonna make it worse.”
“What dreams, Steve?” You pushed.
“When you hung up those Christmas lights? That was the night I dreamt about it for the first time. It wasn’t a nightmare,” he huffed. “And I know it’s crossing lines—walls at this point—that shouldn’t been crossed. Just know that it never was my intention. Believe me, I love being your friend—“
You cut him off impatiently, lips pressing against his in irritation. You swallowed Steve’s surprised sound with a deep one of your own. Your hand wandering to the back of his neck, pulling at the short hair that always kept teasing you when he leant close.
Your body moved on its own, leg swinging over his to sit in his lap as you tasted the coffee on his tongue. Your core clenched at the feel of him against you, his hands pushing under your shirt just a little, fingertips hot and shaky. Steve never did anything halfway, moving you easily closer, chests brushing, hearts pounding.
You pulled back, Steve chasing your lips for a moment before his eyes fluttered open. His chest was still rising quickly as you nudged his nose with yours.
“So…I’m gonna need, like, a second to pretend I meant to do that that smoothly.”
You chuckled, pressing a short kiss against his lips again. “You did well.”
His grip on you tightened, fingers drawing upward and you squealed. He knew you were ticklish at your ribs.
“Are you making fun of me?” He asked with a lopsided grin.
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” You grinned and his eyes narrowed.
“Don’t tease about that, it’s serious business,” he grumbled, fingers still moving along your skin as if he was incapable of stopping.
“How serious are we talking?” Your arms looped around his neck. “Are we talking first base…second base—“ Steve cut off your giggle with another kiss, this one even more desperate, your tummy flipping happily.
The door made a soft click and you both parted looking over your shoulder. Robin was already walking away, headphones over her ears, one hand clutched over her eyes. “I can’t hear you so don’t even try but I’ve waited long enough and I don’t feel like walking into the two of you eating each others faces. Have a good night!” She called before dipping out of view.
You turned back to look at Steve with a grin. “Tell me a bit more about that dream of yours.”
ancient roman women whose husband keeps looking at the neighbour's boy quintus and he never looks at her that way and she can't even chainsmoke in the kitchen because they don't have marlboro blues in ancient times. and she can't even go to the club because they haven't discovered drum and bass music yet. her friend clodia's having visions of a woman named doechii but neither of them knows what that means
Ngl i think a bug tight (kinda possessive) hug from Johnny would be sooooooo good
best friend!johnny who gets so intensely jealous when you're talking/being flirty with other guys and he can't help himself from getting possessive even though he knows he shouldn't, he knows he doesn't have the right to be like this, he knows he's just your friend, he knows you're allowed to flirt and want to date other guys but he just can't control the way his heart feels tight and the way he wants to hold and claim you in front of them. claim you as what exactly, he's unsure. he just wants them all to know that you're off limits even though he knows you're not and he knows he doesn't get to define those limits no matter how badly he really really really wants to.
best friend!johnny who spent all night watching you be your fun and pretty and lovable self and watching the way guys seem to orbit you. he's been good all night long, good at being the cool best friend, watching and keeping you safe from a distance despite the all too familiar burn in his chest. you'd think a guy like him is too used to the fire but this one burns different, he can actually feel it and it feels like a million little deaths.
best friend!johnny who has enough after a while. he gets sick after watching one too many hands graze your waist in what's meant to be harmless passing, gets tired of watching you throw your head back laughing at jokes he knows aren't funny, they don't deserve your laughs, he can make you laugh harder, realer. he can't stand to watch it anymore, it's not jealousy, it's not. it's something more. it's torturous.
best friend!johnny who decides enough is enough so he makes his way over to you, his warm hands finding your waist and pulling you close to his chest. you know his hands too well so you're not surprised at his touch, nobody's hands are this warm and perfect except his, nobody's chest is this firm against your back. nobody's heart beats thunderously the way his does. you recognise it all too well so you're not worried as you melt into him. he doesn't even speak, not in the mood to start a conversation with the men he's been glaring at all night. he just holds you, tightly, possessively. his fingers spread widely on your hips before he wraps his arms around your middle, pulling you even closer you can his heart thudding against your back, beating into you, seeping into your sense like music, your favourite kind.
best friend!johnny who comes up with an excuse to pull you away from having enough of watching wandering eyes drift up and down your body, their fucking nerve to stare at you like this when his arms are wrapped around you. he makes sure to burn their palms when he shakes their hands before leaving with you, he relishes in the wince that takes over their face as they try to act unaffected by the stinging ache in their palm when he squeezes their hands tight in his scorching one. it's not hot enough to leave them needing a visit to the emergency room but definitely hot enough that it's gonna be uncomfortable to flex their hands or hold anything for at least a couple weeks. they deserve it, he tells himself even though he knows they don't. but oh they do.
best friend!johnny who keeps his arm draped on your shoulders as you leave, keeping you close to him. it's heavy and warm and you don't mind having it there forever. you wonder if he knows that. the way he holds you like something precious tells you he might.
how could you find him sexually attractive? (he's a hands-on learner by the way.)
pre-astrophage!grace who has his reservations believing he's desirable in the bedroom. good thing you're a willing teacher with a passion. and authority, for the material.
*ੈ✩‧₊˚
ryland isn't helpless in the bedroom by any means – that man would 100% talk you through it.
sometimes, though, that confidence wavers. you're not a thesis he can prove or an equation he can solve for, you're a human being who – for some reason – has a romantic interest in him. That's infinitely more complicated (and a little terrifying for him).
on the contrary, you're of the belief that his attractiveness is fairly easy to study. is a study even necessary? (not like you'd complain if it was.)
it is.
you try explaining this to him one night in your shared apartment. it's not going very well. he's not very responsive to words of encouragement alone... hm, maybe apply supplemental stimuli?
your eyes darken. "do you need me to just show you?"
his throat bobs as his cheeks flare crimson. "maybe."
without further discussion, you lead him into the bedroom.
you have him undress first. slowly. "let's see... initial observations." his dark t-shirt falls to the floor. you allow only a sliver of distance between your bodies.
"lovely mouth." a brush of your thumb under his bottom lip. "best kiss-bitten. pretty words," you slip the digit passed his teeth and he welcomes it readily. "good with your tongue." with a hushed, dreamy huff, you withdraw to explore further.
"big arms." drag your nails down both his biceps, let them dig in a little. "always hugged so nicely by your sleeves."
he's tense, adorably so. muscles taut like he's trying not to sweep you up and forget about this whole experiment.
"broad chest." you flatten your palms there and his breath catches.
"strong core." a shiver as your touch trails down his stomach.
he's listening, ears straining to absorb every word. you're saying simple things, too sultry to be entirely clinical, but he's already pink around the ears.
a strangled little sound when you pull at the loops of his jeans, pressing his hips into yours. he's already hard. you have to feel it – the denim doing little to hide it.
his hands are flexing at his sides. he's literally aching to touch you. but ryland wants to listen to you, so he contains himself. this will be about you, you'd said to him.
you pull away – ever controlled – just enough to unfasten his belt, having the nerve to hum as you're systematically unravelling him. he lets you undo the button and zipper. reminds himself to inhale, exhale when he's left on display for you in only his boxer briefs.
are you going to–? you are.
his eyes are so big as you start to lower yourself, leaving gentle kisses in your wake. worshipping. memorizing. oh, and speaking of big...
"more than enough to fill me up." and you actually lick the imprint of him – a single stripe from base to tip – through the fabric of his underwear. a broken moan of your name. there's a weak spasm in his abdomen as his dick gives a desperate twitch for more pressure – more of you. he's honestly surprised that he doesn't combust right then and there. statistically, he isn't sure he'd be able to replicate that outcome.
his skin is burning. you can feel it near your face. under your hands, which are gripping his bare thighs.
poor thing.
when you stand, ryland is biting back a soft cry. your breath had been so warm on him, right where he needed.
you lick your lips. make sure he watches you do so. "take everything off. sit back on the bed, ry." barely a whisper and he's scrambling to obey. the command you hold over him is more than any worldly power he can name.
you remove your own clothes, relishing in the cool air against your own heat – molten just below the surface. your results aren't due anytime soon. you take your time.
"syllogisms," you sigh as you climb on top of him – straddling his lap, but sat forward on your knees, "are deductive tests where a conclusion is found to be either true or false given a set of assumed premises."
fuck, it's hot when you know what you're talking about. both of you are all too aware of the mere inches separating where you want the other the most. he rests his large hands on your thighs, steadying you. his thumbs are rubbing twin arcs into your skin. don't stop, please, he just can't help it.
bringing your lips down, you kiss him. despite the salacious nature of everything else, it's sweet. loving. you don't want him to forget what this is for. "so let's test that original hypothesis, yeah?"
a swallow, "okay."
"attractive things make me wet. this is fact, the main propostion." you reach down to your practically dripping core. ryland doesn't dare tear his gaze away as your cupped hand glides between your folds, gathering slick. you don't even need to push them inside to have enough to coat your palm.
can't refuse when you bring your fingers up to his mouth again. he swallows them greedily, your taste exploding across his tastebuds, pure wonder in his expression as he looks at you from under mussed blond strands.
ryland is still licking them clean when you ask, "taste that?" he's a bit dazed, but he nods, too busy to speak. "mm, good. minor premise: I'm presently aroused. another fact." you remove your fingers and his jaw clenches at the loss.
he doesn't have time to complain. because, in the next moment, you drop. you're flush against him, laving your silken sex across his in blissful rolls of your hips. the sound he makes – mixing with a gasp of your own – is unfathomably embarrassing, though he can't bring himself to care. only manages to blush a deeper red. match your rhythm.
"feel it too? 's because of you, ryland." he actually whimpers. his mind is blank, it's just consumed by youyouyou–
and then, because you must love seeing him tormented, you rise. it borders sin, a glistening thread of your essence still connecting the two of you.
his hips jolt upwards involuntarily, trying to chase the sensation you've taken away. "oh, god, I'm sorry, so sorry," he babbles, words tripping over one another.
"so," you shakily regather your composure, fraying yourself, "if physically attractive things cause me to produce lubricant, and I'm soaked from looking at and touching you, then what can you determine?"
he knows the answer. ryland looks like you just asked him to stand up in front of the class. "don't make me say it." you repeat the sequence. no change in tone – the reiteration alone does the trick. he groans. "attractive things make you wet." his grip on your thighs tightens. "I made you wet." he's looking up at you over his glasses. god, his pupils are huge. "therefore, I'm attractive."
satisfaction swells in your chest. "there you go." the praise makes him throb.
he needs to be buried inside you, now. whatever gets him that honor.
"please, I get it." "do you now?" "yes, God, please– wanna, need to feel you. all of you." "understand now? think you've earned it, hm?" "I have, I promise. I'll show you."
Eddie refuses to give into your drunken flirtation - but what happens the next day when you’d slept it off & still want him?
a/n - amidst my multiple WIPs it’s always good to have a smutty one shot ready to go - right?
TW/CW - temporarily drunk!reader (but Eddie’s a gentleman), making out, smut, oral (f! receiving), no use of y/n, praise, discussions of consent
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Eddie was breathless, sweat stinging his eyes as the final chord of "Runnin' with the Devil" rang out, vibrating through the floorboards and up into the soles of his boots, leaving that distinct ringing in his ears that he lived for. He looked out into the crowd - what little there was of it, anyway - and immediately, his dark eyes landed on you.
You were standing by the edge of the stage, bathed in the shitty, flickering stage lights. You looked radiant - like you always did, obviously - but tonight? Tonight you were wearing a skirt that just barely covered you, and a top that clung to you in all the ways he spent his nights imagining he would one day. The way he wanted you was a constant, dull ache in his chest that flared up into something hot and jagged every time you looked at him.
As the “show” came to an end, he hopped off the stage, wiping his palms on his jeans, trying to compose himself. Just be cool, Munson. She’s your best friend. She’s off-limits. She’s... Oh. Very drunk.
He saw you stumble a little before he even reached you. Your movements were loose, too fluid, while your eyes were glassy and unfocused. Panic spiked in his throat, instantly cooling the heat of the performance.
"Whoa, easy there, sweetheart," he said, rushing forward to catch your elbows before you could face-plant into the sticky floor. His hands gripped your skin, and the contact was electric. You were burning up. "Didn't know you were planning to go this hard tonight. You okay?"
"I'm fantastic," you slurred, and the sound of your voice, thick and syrupy, sent a shiver down his spine. “You did so good up there.”
You leaned your full weight against him, your face pressing into his sweaty neck. He froze and nearly stopped breathing. You were nuzzling into the crook of his neck like it was the most natural thing in the world - meanwhile his heart was busy trying to beat its way out of his rib cage. He could smell the alcohol on your breath, sharp and sour, but underneath it, you smelled like you - some sort of perfume that was a mixture of cherries and vanilla that secretly drove him insane.
"Hey," he managed to choke out, his voice sounding wrecked even to his own ears. He carefully pulled you back, forcing himself to hold your shoulders at arm's length, cocking his head down to get a better look at you. "You're burning up. Let's get you some water."
"No," you stuck out your lower lip in a slight pout, and he had to look away, swallowing hard. You grabbed his wrist, your fingers hot and trembling. "Come outside with me. Please? It's too loud in here.”
He looked at Gareth and Jeff; they were busy packing up, oblivious to the internal war currently shredding him apart. He looked back at you. Your lower lip was still jutting out in a way that made him want to bite it. He knew he should just get you water. Help you sober up before driving you home to tuck you in like the good, platonic friend he was supposed to be.
But he was weak. God, he was so weak when it came to you.
"Okay," he relented, the defeat heavy in his voice. "Just for some air. Before I drive you home."
The alleyway was freezing compared to the stifling heat of the bar, but the cold air did nothing to cool the fire raging under his skin. He leaned against the brick wall, crossing his arms over his chest in a defensive position he hoped you wouldn't notice.
"You should drink this," he said, pulling the spare water bottle from his back pocket. His hands fumbled with the cap and it fell to the ground. He felt clumsy, stupid.
You ignored it, stepping into his space and invading the safety zone he tried to maintain until your toes were touching his boots. He looked down at you, his breath hitching in his throat. You were so close. Way too close.
"What’re you doing?" He asked, his voice dropping to a whisper. His hands hung limp at his sides, useless, aching to touch you.
"Nothing," you breathed. Your hand came up to his jaw, your fingers tracing the line of bone. Your touch was feather-light, torturous. His eyes fluttered shut against his will. "I'm jus’ looking at you."
"Don't," he whispered back, a plea. "Please don't look at me like that."
“Why not?”
“You’re drunk.” Eddie cleared his throat. “I’m just trying to make sure you stay outta trouble. Take care of you.”
"You're always taking such good care of me, Eds," you murmured, your thumb brushing over his lower lip, tugging down slightly. His lips parted in a gasp. "Always watching out for me. Why?"
Because I love you. I've loved you since we were six years old and you shared your lunch with me when you saw I didn’t have one. Every time you smile at me, I feel like I've won the lottery. You go out of your way to make every single day better. The thought of anyone else touching me makes me want to tear my own skin off, and I can’t imagine wanting to be with anyone as much as I want to be with you.
"Because I'm your friend," he lied, the words tasting like poison in his mouth. "And someone has to.”
"I don't want a friend right now," you whispered, standing on tip-toe and letting your lips brushed the sensitive skin just below his ear. Your hips pressed against his ever so slightly. “And I don’t think you do either.”
Eddie’s knees nearly buckled. A guttural sound tore itself from his throat, half-groan, half-sob. His hands flew to your waist on instinct, fingers digging into the soft flesh there, holding you up against him and holding you back all at once.
He wanted to let go, he really did. But it wasn’t very gentlemanly to feel up someone who was drunk off their rocker. He would never take advantage of anyone who was drunk - especially not you.
But that didn’t stop him from wanting to grab you by the back of the neck and crash his mouth against yours. To spin you around, push you up against this wall and show you exactly what you did to him. He’d spent years memorizing the way you laughed, the curve of your hips, the swell of your breasts, and now you were here, seemingly seconds away from offering it to him on a silver platter.
"You don’t mean that," he choked out, voice barely recognizable. "It's the alcohol talking."
"It's not," you insisted, your hand sliding down his chest, over his still slightly sweaty t-shirt, heading lower. "Kiss me, Eddie. Please."
Your fingers grazed the waistband of his jeans, teasing the sliver of skin there. His hips jerked forward involuntarily, and to his horror he was becoming hard - painfully, embarrassingly hard - and there was no hiding it as you pressed up against him. He was disgusted with himself. Taking advantage of his best friend because she had a few too many drinks? Fuck, he was scum. No better than the guys the manager of the bar occasionally asked him to toss out for getting too handsy with other customers, or trying to lure drunk girls out to their cars.
He caught your hand before you could go any lower, his grip almost bruising.
“Please, Eddie. Just’ one -“
"D-don't," he gasped, his head falling back against the brick wall.
He looked down at you. Your beautiful eyes were glassy, and your cheeks were flushed a tempting shade of lusty pink. But he knew you weren't really seeing him. You were seeing a warm body, a safe pair of hands. A temporary scratch to an alcohol-fueled itch. You definitely weren't seeing the guy who had spent a decade silently worshipping the ground you walked on.
"You're going to wake up tomorrow," he said, the words tearing at his throat, "and you're going to regret this.” And I can't handle just being the mistake you make when you're too drunk to know better.
"I’d never regret you," you whispered, tears welling in your eyes. “You're… Eddie."
He let out a shaky laugh, feeling like his heart was being ripped out of his chest as he gently peeled your fingers off his waist, fighting every instinct in his body that screamed at him to pull you back. He needed to get you away from him before he did something he could never take back.
"Let's get you in the van," he said, his voice rough, forcibly devoid of the emotion that was threatening to drown him. "I'm taking you home to sleep this off.” And we are never talking about this again.
He opened the passenger door and helped you inside, his hands lingering on your lower back for just a second too long before he pulled away. He shut the door, closing you in, and leaned his forehead against the cold metal of the roof, dragging in ragged breaths of air. He was hard, aching, and utterly miserable - and he wanted you so bad it felt like dying. But he loved you enough to let you go.
The drive to your place was a blur of dark trees and silent roads, the only sound the hum of his van engine and your quiet, uneven breathing from the passenger seat. Eddie gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white, his jaw set in a hard line as he stared resolutely at the road. He refused to look at you, or to let his eyes trace the curve of your very bare thigh.
You were dead weight, soft and pliant in his arms, face buried in his chest as he half-carried you up the walkway to your apartment a little while later. The scent of your shampoo and perfume filled his nose with every step, clouding his mind. He fumbled with your keys, hands shaking as he swore under his breath until the lock finally clicked.
Inside, he guided you straight to your bedroom. You probably needed a shower to get the film of bar sweat off your soft skin - but he wasn’t about to try and tempt fate, or wrestle you into your small shower. He sat you on the edge of the bed, kneeling to tug off your heels. You giggled drunkenly, sliding your fingers into his hair, tugging gently at the roots. It sent a bolt of electricity straight down his spine. Jesus Christ, sweetheart. Don’t do that again.
"You're so good to me, Eddie," you mumbled, eyes heavy-lidded and unfocused. "Stay with me? Please? Don’t wanna be alone."
Eddie froze, his hands resting on your ankles and thumbs brushing against the sensitive skin there. He looked up at you. "I... I shouldn't."
"Please," you whispered again, clutching at his shoulders like he was your lifeline. "Just until I fall asleep. Feel… Dizzy.”
He let out a long, ragged breath, closing his eyes for a second. He knew he should leave. Tuck you in and go sleep on the couch immediately. But the thought of saying no to you, when you looked at him like that… It was impossible.
"Okay," he whispered, the defeat heavy in his voice. "Just until you fall asleep."
He helped you slide under the covers, his movements bordering on reverent. You looked like an angel lying there, hair fanned out across the pillow, cheeks flushed. He sat on the very edge of the mattress, trying to take up as little space on the bed as possible. But you weren't having it, tugging on his sleeve, mumbling something about laying down. Next thing he knew you were wrapping an arm around his waist, burying your face in his back.
He stiffened, his entire body locking up. He could feel the heat of your breath through the thin fabric of his t-shirt. He could feel the softness of your breasts pressing against him. It was agony. The sweetest kind of hell he had ever known. The kind guys like him wrote songs about. Eddie stared at your wall, counting the seconds, forcing himself to breathe evenly, trying to ignore the way his body was screaming at him to turn around and pull you into his arms.
Slowly, your breathing evened out, deepening into the slow rhythm of sleep. Your arm went lax around his waist. He waited another ten minutes, just to be sure, his heart slowly returning to a normal rhythm.
Gently, he peeled your arm away, sliding out from under your grasp. He turned back to look at you, bathed in the soft moonlight filtering through the blinds. You looked so peaceful. Almost innocent. He felt a wave of self-loathing wash over him at the mere thought of doing anything to ruin his friendship with you.
He reached out, hand hovering over your cheek for a moment before he let his fingertips graze your soft skin. Then, he leaned down, pressing a feather-light kiss to your forehead. It chaste, a purely platonic gesture of affection, but it burned his lips like a brand.
"Goodnight, sweetheart," he whispered into the silence.
Sunlight streamed through the open living room blinds, stabbing directly into Eddie's eyelids. He groaned, rolling over and burying his face in the cushion. His back was stiff, neck popping as he shifted. He hadn’t even had a drop of beer the night before but he still felt like he’d been hit by a truck.
He sat up slowly, rubbing a hand over his face, the events of the night before crashing down on him. The alleyway. The kiss that almost happened. The way you had clearly wanted him. His stomach twisted with a mixture of shame and lingering desire. He scrubbed a hand through his messy hair, trying to smooth it down, and grabbed his discarded flannel shirt from the floor, shrugging it on.
He needed coffee. And he needed to know if you remembered anything. God, he hoped you didn't.
He walked into the kitchen, digging through your cabinets for a mug when he heard your bedroom door creak open. He froze, his heart jumping into his throat.
You shuffled out, wrapped in your oversized bathrobe, your hair a tangled mess on top of your head. You looked beautiful, even as you winced at the bright light, shielding your eyes with one hand.
"Hey there," Eddie said, his voice coming out rougher than he intended. He cleared his throat, turning to lean against the counter. "How’re you feeling?"
"Like I died," you groaned, shuffling over to the kitchen table and collapsing into a chair. You buried your face in your hands. "I am never drinking again. Ever. Why’d you let me do that?”
Eddie let out a small laugh. A small wave of relief washed over him, cooling the anxiety in his gut. "That bad, huh?"
"Worse," you mumbled, peeking out at him from between your fingers. "I don't even remember how I got home. Did I... did I do anything stupid?"
He watched you closely, searching your face for any sign of recollection. There was nothing but confusion and a pounding headache. You didn't remember the alley. Or begging him to kiss you. Or the way he'd had to physically pry your hands off him. He forced a casual shrug, plastering a noncommittal smirk on his face that didn't quite reach his eyes.
"Nah. You just had a bit too much fun. Brought you home, tucked you in. You were out like a light."
You sighed, dropping your head onto the table with a dull thud. "You're a saint, Munson. I don't know what I'd do without you."
If only you knew, he thought, his chest aching with the weight of the secret he carried. He turned back to the counter, turning on the coffee maker with trembling fingers to hide the expression on his face.
"Yeah, well," he said, his voice tight. "Someone's gotta look out for you."
The shower hissed to life a few minutes later, the sound of water against the tile and your gentle humming filling the small apartment. Eddie leaned back against the kitchen counter, staring blindly at the coffee pot as it slowly filled. He brought his hands up to his face, rubbing his palms roughly over his eyes. He felt raw, exposed, like he’d just run a marathon without training. The image of you in that alleyway, desperate and wanting in that practically nonexistent skirt was burned into the back of his eyelids. Anytime he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to banish the memory of feel of your skin, but it was no use. It was branded there, permanently.
He heard the water shut off. A few minutes later, the bathroom door opened, and a cloud of steam rolled out. You walked into the kitchen, your hair, wearing shorts and an oversized Metallica shirt. You looked cleaner, but still fragile, moving slowly as the light hit you again.
"Coffee?" Eddie asked, his voice sounding a little too loud in the quiet room. He turned to grab a mug, needing something to do with his hands.
"Please," you groaned, sinking into a chair. You pulled your knees up to your chest, wrapping your arms around them. "I feel like my brain is sloshing around in my skull."
He poured you a cup and slid it across the table without another word.
"Thanks," you murmured, closing your eyes in caffeinated bliss briefly. "You really are the best."
"I try," he said, leaning back against the counter, crossing his ankles. He watched you over the rim of his own mug, trying to gauge your mood. You seemed calmer, but there was a furrow between your brows that suggested you were thinking. Hard.
You were quiet for a long moment, staring into the dark liquid in your cup. The silence stretched, thick and heavy, until you finally spoke, your voice barely a whisper. "I... I keep having these flashes. Like, snippets of memories."
Eddie’s heart stopped. He set his mug down a little harder than he intended. "Yeah? That happens. Think it’s called, like, alcohol amnesia, or something.”
"It's not just random stuff," you said, looking up at him, your eyes searching his face. "I remember... Was I out behind the bar? Like, in the alleyway?”
Eddie felt the blood drain from his face. He kept his expression neutral, but inside, he was panicking. "Yeah. We went out there for some air. You needed to cool down."
"And we were... Alone?" you asked, brow furrowing deeper.
"Yeah," he said carefully. "Just us."
You bit your lip as your gaze dropped to the table. "I feel like I said something. Or did something, maybe? Shit, did I make a total fool of myself?”
Eddie let out a breath, a short exhale. He quickly pulled out the chair opposite you and sat down. He leaned in, resting his elbows on his knees. "Hey. You didn't do anything. You were just drunk. Happens to the best of us."
"Eddie," you said, your voice firming up. You looked him dead in the eye, your cheeks flushing. "What happened?”
“It’s not a big deal. You just… Got a little flirty is all.”
“Oh no-“
“It’s no big deal.”
“Shit, I didn’t kiss you did I?” You clamped a hand over your mouth, seemingly catching Eddie’s face blanch. “Did I try something?”
He stared at you, caught. He could lie. He could brush it off, tell you that you just talked about the weather or complained about your ex. But looking at you, seeing the genuine fear and confusion in your eyes, he couldn't do it. You deserved the truth. He looked down at his hands, picking at a chip in the polish on his thumb.
"Kinda. I mean, you… Didn’t do anything. Exactly." He admitted quietly. "You said you didn't want to be friends. You said you wanted, uh, me."
You let out a small, horrified gasp, your hand flying up to cover your mouth. "Oh my god.“
A faint, self-deprecating smile touching his lips. "You were... Attempting to be very persuasive."
Your eyes widen with mortification.
"Don’t worry about it, okay? Nothing happened. Your hands were just wandering places they shouldn't have been."
You dropped your head into your hands, letting out a groan of pure despair. "I am so sorry. Fuck - I can't believe I did that. I must have made you so uncomfortable."
"You didn't," he said immediately, reaching out to gently pull your hands away from your face. He held them for a second, his thumbs brushing over your knuckles, before letting go. "It's fine. Really. You were drunk. Nothin’ to be embarrassed about. Happens to me all the time as a small-town rock star at a dive bar.”
“It’s not funny, Munson. Shit, I never… I didn’t mean to… God, I ruin everything.”
"You didn't ruin anything," he said fiercely. "I promise. We're good. It's forgotten."
“And you’re sure nothing else happened?”
“Swear on my life.” Eddie searched your expression carefully. “I also need you to know that I don’t accept those types of offers from drunk girls, okay? Kinda the bare minimum, but I’m not that kinda guy, I swear. “
You looked at him, eyes swimming with unshed tears - partially from embarrassment, partially from realizing you’d dodged a bullet in your state the night before. You were quiet for a long moment, studying his face, like you were looking for something. Then you took a deep breath, and your next words knocked the wind out of him.
"If any guy had to take advantage of me," you said softly, your voice trembling slightly, "I’d have wanted it to be you."
The silence that followed was deafening. Eddie stared at you, his mouth slightly open, his brain short-circuiting. He felt like he’d been punched in the stomach. It was nice to know that you trusted him, but Jesus Christ, your words horrified him.
"Woah, what the fuck?" He choked out.
"I mean it," you said, your eyes locking onto his. "I trust you more than anyone. You're... you're Eddie. You're the one person who actually gives a shit about me. If I was going to be that… Like, forward with someone, I'm glad it was you."
Eddie recoiled, the chair scraping loudly against the floor as he stood up abruptly. He shoved his hands into his hair, pacing restlessly away from the table.
"No," he said, his voice rising in agitation. "No, absolutely not. Don't say that. Don't ever say that."
"Why not?" you asked, confused by his sudden intensity.
"Because I would never do that!" he burst out, spinning around to face you. "I would never take advantage of you like that. You were drunk, you were vulnerable, and I’m supposed to protect you. Not... Do the shit you were asking me to do."
You watched him, expression unreadable. Then you tilted your head to the side, your eyes narrowing slightly. "Geez, are you really that horrified by the idea of being with me?"
"What? No, fuck. It's not about being with you!" he yelled, frustration cracking his composure. "It's about consent. And like, being a decent human being!"
"So let’s say you have my consent. Can you honestly say," your voice dropped to a dangerous, silky calm, "that you’ve never thought about it?"
Eddie froze. The air left the room. He stopped pacing, shoulders rigid, and he could feel your eyes burning a hole in his back. This was it. The moment of truth. He could lie. He could laugh it off or make a joke. But the words died in his throat. He couldn't lie to you. Not about this. Not when he had spent the last ten years lying to everyone else, including himself.
He turned around slowly, face pale and eyes dark - filled with a turmoil he couldn't hide. He saw the challenge in your gaze. You knew. Or you suspected. And you were calling his bluff. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. So he stood there, trapped, heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs, waiting for the inevitable fallout.
The silence stretched between you, taut and vibrating, like the hum of an amp before the feedback kicks in. Eddie didn't move, just stood there looking at you like a deer caught in headlights.
"You can't say it, can you?" You whispered, a slow, triumphant smile spreading across your face. The shame from earlier was gone, replaced by a sudden, electric thrill. You leaned forward in your chair, resting your elbows on the table, eyes locked on his. "You can't look me in the eye and tell me you've never thought about us."
Eddie’s jaw worked furiously, a muscle jumping in his cheek. He looked down at the floor, at the ceiling, anywhere but at you. "It doesn't matter," he gritted out. "I'm not that guy."
You walked around the table, moving into his space, just like you had in the alleyway, but this time you were sober, and every step was calculated. "You're the guy who takes care of me. The guy who protects me. The guy who drives me home and sleeps on my couch."
"Stop," he warned, backing up until his spine hit the wall. He held his hands up as if to ward you off, but you saw the way his fingers curled toward you, wanting to grab hold of you.
"But you never made a move," you mused, stopping right in front of him. You reached out, trailing a finger down the front of his flannel shirt, feeling the rapid thud of his heart beneath your touch. "All these years. Not once. Why? Think I'd break your heart? Think you’re too good for me?”
If anything is too good for someone - it’s you. You’re way more than I deserve.
"Because you're my best friend!" he shouted, the words exploding out of him. "If we hooked up and I ended up losing you, I wouldn't survive it!"
"You wouldn’t," you said, looking up at him through your lashes. "I'm right here. And I'm asking you. I'm giving you permission to be honest with me. Just for once.”
His eyes darted across your face, searching for a sign of hesitation - but he found none. All he saw was a heat that matched his own, a challenge that hung in the air between you.
"Fine. I think about it all the time," he finally ground out, the admission torn from him by your pleading expression. "Every single day. Every time you laugh at my jokes or wear those goddamn shorts or tell me about the book you’re reading. Every time you look at me like I'm actually worth something because you’re like, the only person who does.”
The satisfaction that surged through you was heady, better than any drink. You stepped closer, eliminating the last inch of space between you, until your hips were brushing his.
“Really?”
“Y-yeah.”
"Good," you whispered. "I was hoping you'd say that."
You looked up at him, your eyes wide and curious. "So tell me, Munson. If I let you... If I actually gave you the green light... What would you do with me?"
Eddie’s breath hitched audibly. His eyes went black, dilating until the brown was just a thin ring around the edge. He stared at you, and for a second, he considered bolting. But then something snapped. The leash he'd been holding onto for a decade finally broke.
"You really want to know?" He asked, voice dropping to a low, dangerous rumble that vibrated through your chest.
"I do," you nodded eagerly.
"I don’t know if I’d be very gentle, sweetheart," he said, gaze dropping to your lips, then lower, to the pulse beating wildly in your neck. "I might not be the sweet, careful friend you're used to. Maybe I'd be selfish."
He leaned down, face inches from yours, but he didn't kiss you. He just let you feel the heat of his breath, the weight of his words.
"I'd start by getting you out of these clothes," he murmured, his eyes tracing the line of your shirt. "Slowly. I'd want to draw it out. Make you beg for it, kinda like you begged me last night. I'd peel every layer off till you were completely bare for me. Would you like that?"
He grinned as you trembled slightly, but still held your ground, mesmerized while you nodded.
"I wouldn't just use my hands," he continued, his voice roughening. "I think I’d like to memorize every inch of you with my tongue. Find every spot that makes you gasp and squirm, and I'd stay there until you were screaming my name."
He shifted, crowding you back against the wall, but didn’t touch you yet, one hand bracing beside your head. Tension radiated off him.
"And when you were finally as desperate as I could make you," he whispered, “when you couldn't take it anymore... I still wouldn't give it to you right away. I'd make you wait. Use your words. All that.”
He leaned in closer, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, sending a shiver down your spine that rattled your bones.
"And when I finally got inside of you," he breathed, "I wouldn't stop. Not until you were so wrecked you couldn't remember your own name. Not until the only thing you knew, the only thing you could feel inside your tight little body, was me."
He pulled back slightly, looking you in the eye, his expression fierce and hungry. "And I'd ruin you for anyone else. Make sure you never looked at another guy again without thinking of me. Mark you, inside and out. I'd make you mine. That’s the only way this ends.”
The air in the kitchen seemed to have vanished. You were gripping the front of his shirt now, breath coming in short, sharp gasps. It was clearly the most intense thing anyone had ever said to you, likely made infinitely hotter by the knowledge that it was your friend. Eddie. With the sweet doe eyes and nerdy side hobbies. The guy who looked like an intense, devil-worshiping troublemaker - but who was truly an angel in disguise.
"Is that..." you swallowed hard, trying to find your voice. "Is that all?"
A dark, wicked smirk curled the corner of his mouth. It was a look you'd never seen on him before - predatory, confident.
"I mean, that’s just the start," he said softly. "I've got ten years of ideas to work through."
Your fingers clenched tighter around the fabric of his flannel, twisting it until your knuckles threatened to split open. The air between you was thick enough to choke on, charged with a decade of repressed longing that was finally snapping its tether. His words were still echoing in your ears, dark and heavy, painting pictures in your mind that made your thighs tremble.
"So do it.”
Eddie froze, his dark eyes searching yours. He looked like a man standing on a precipice, terrified to jump but longing for the fall.
“What?"
"You h-heard me," you said, voice gaining strength. You tugged him forward, pulling him flush against you until you could feel the hard lines of his body pressing into yours. He was solid, warm, and vibrating with a restraint that was visibly crumbling. "Stop talking about it. If you want to ruin me so badly, Eddie... Then ruin me."
He let out a ragged half-groan, half-laugh, shaking his head slightly. "You don't know what you're asking, baby. You deserve so much better than me.”
"I'm not asking for someone else," you shot back, eyes flashing. "I'm asking for you. All of you. Unless," you tilted your head, a smirk playing on your lips, "you're all talk?"
That was the spark that lit the fuse.
Eddie’s brown eyes narrowed, the heat in them intensifying. He didn't say a word as he moved with a sudden, fluid speed that stole your breath. One hand shot out, bracing against the wall beside your head, and the other hooked around your waist, hauling you off your feet. You gasped as your back hit the wall, harder than you expected, knocking the wind out of you. But before you could recover, his mouth was on yours.
It wasn't really a sweet, tentative first kiss. It was all tongues and desperate hunger. He kissed you like he was starving, like you were the only oxygen in a burning room. His lips were demanding, punishing, slanting over yours perfectly with a passion that made your head spin. You moaned into his mouth, hands flying up to tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, needing him closer. He growled low in his throat, the vibration reverberating through your chest. His hand left the wall and gripped your thigh, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise, hauling your leg up to wrap around his hip. The position left you open, vulnerable, and you could feel the hard ridge of his erection pressing against your core through the denim of his jeans
"Eddie," you gasped, tearing your mouth away to breathe, but he didn't let you retreat. He immediately latched onto your neck, his teeth scraping against the sensitive skin below your ear, sending jolts of electricity down your spine. If he had his way, (and if you were okay with it) it was going to be the first of many marks he’d leave on your body to remind you exactly who you belonged to.
"I warned you," he muttered against your skin, his voice muffled and rough. "I told you I wouldn't be gentle."
"G-good," you choked out, head falling back against the wall as he sucked the mark onto your pulse point in earnest. "Don't stop."
He didn't. His hand slid up under your shirt, his palm hot against your stomach, tracing the curve of your waist. His touch was electric, searing you from the inside out. He wasn't exploring; he was claiming. Every touch felt like he was marking his territory, learning the map of your body by heart.
Eddie suddenly back away from the wall, letting you slide out of his arms slightly. You groaned in protest but before you could say anything coherent, the world tilted upside down as he threw you over his shoulder with surprising ease. His arms banded around your legs, one hand splayed over your ass as your shorts rode up way too far than was decent. A few moments later he kicked open your bedroom door, the wood banging against the wall. The world righted itself as he carefully dropped you onto the center of the bed.
He was on top of you before you could even process the movement, caging you in, knees on either side of your hips and hands braced on either side of your head. He loomed over you, a predator finally closing in on its prey. He looked wild, his hair a mess, his chest rising and falling rhythmically.
"You sure you want this, sweetheart?” He asked, his voice dropping to a growl.
You looked up at him, shivering at both the intensity in his eyes and the raw need that matched your own. It was endearing that even in his intensity and insistence that he was about to totally ruin you - he still wanted you to fully consent to all of it. Reaching up, you grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him down until his nose brushed yours.
"If you stop now," you whispered, "I'm gonna kill you."
He let out a dark chuckle, the sound sending a jolt of excitement down your spine. "That's my girl."
Eddie crashed his lips against yours again, and this time, there was no hesitation. There was only that fire you were quickly becoming addicted to. His hands moved to the hem of your shirt, and with a rough jerk, he pulled it up and over your head, tossing it carelessly to the floor, leaving you in a thin bra. The scorching heat of his palms landed on your waist, holding you firmly in place so he could take a moment to drink you in properly.
"Look at you," he murmured, voice a low, vibrating rumble against your sternum as he leaned down, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses down to the sensitive skin of your stomach. "Fuck, I’ve dreamed about this. Real thing is way better though."
His mouth traveled lower, his tongue dipping into your navel, making your hips buck writhe against the mattress. But his hands were the real distraction. He had large hands, slender and strong, and the cool metal of his rings - the thick silver bands he wore on almost every finger - was a shocking, exquisite contrast to the burning heat of your skin. He dragged those hands up your ribs, thumbs brushing the underside of your breasts, and the rings snagged slightly against the lace of your bra, sending a riot of goosebumps racing across your flesh. It felt dangerous, despite knowing you were safe with him.
Your breath was beginning to come in short gasps, causing Eddie to look up at you from under his lashes. A smirk played on his kiss-swollen lips, and his hands ghosted further over your breasts. Your back arched instinctively, pushing your chest further into his hands. He squeezed ever so slightly, & a small moan worked its way up from the back of your throat.
“Awe, too much, baby?”
"N-no."
His smirk widened, a flash of white teeth. "Good. Because I'm just getting started."
Eddie carefully reached behind you, his fingers fumbling with the clasp of your bra with an ease that probably shouldn’t have surprised you. The fabric gave way, and he pulled the straps down your arms, tossing the garment aside with the same disregard he’d shown your t-shirt. The air felt heavy, charged with a sudden, intense vulnerability as you lay bare-chested beneath him.
For a few moments, Eddie didn't speak. He just looked. He stared at you with a hunger that was almost terrifying, eyes darkening as they traced the curve of your breasts, the rapid rise and fall of your chest. It felt like he was physically consuming you with his gaze.
"Fucking Christ," he whispered reverently. "You're perfect."
He lowered his head, but he didn't take a nipple into his mouth immediately. Instead, he ran his knuckles - decorated in cold, hard metal - over the soft swell of your breast. The sensation was startling against your overheated skin. You gasped, your nipples hardening instantly into tight peaks.
"Like that, baby?" He murmured, doing it again experimentally, this time on the other side. He watched your face intently, cataloging every reaction as if he intended to file them away to revisit at some point.
"Y-yes," you hissed, your own hands tangling in his hair, trying to guide him closer. "Eddie, please."
"Please what?" His teasing breath ghosted over your skin. "Use your words. Tell me what you need."
"I need your mouth," you practically begged, your hips lifting off the bed in a desperate search for friction as he let out a small laugh. "Please, put your mouth on me or something.”
"Since you asked so nicely."
He leaned down and closed his lips around your nipple, sucking hard. The wet heat of his mouth was a shock after the cold metal of his rings. And he didn't just suck; he used his teeth too - grazing the sensitive bud just enough to make you gasp. A sharp mix of pleasure with a twinge of pain shot straight to your groin. His hand came up to knead your other breast, his palm rough, his fingers twisting and pinching.
After a few intense minutes that had you panting, he switched sides, giving the other nipple the same treatment. Eventually, his free hand slid slowly down your stomach, rings clinking softly against your skin. With practiced ease, his hand delving inside your sleep shorts, beneath the waistband of your underwear.
You knew you were soaked. You could feel the slick heat gathering between your legs, and now he definitely could as well. He choked out an against your breast, fingers sliding through your wetness.
"Christ,” Eddie murmured. “This all for me, angel?"
"All for you," you managed, head falling back against the pillow. "Only you."
"Good girl," he praised, his voice dropping an octave, becoming impossibly deeper. It was a tone you’d never heard from him - commanding, authoritative. It made your stomach clench with anticipation.
Quickly, he pulled his hand out of your pants, ignoring your small whine of protest, and hooked his fingers into the waistbands of both your shorts and panties. He tugged them down your legs in one rough motion, helping you kick out of them so you were left completely bare before him.
Eddie sat back slightly as he situated himself between your legs, his large, dark eyes roaming over your naked body like he didn’t know what he wanted to focus on first. He looked so terrifyingly beautiful like this - hair wild, chest heaving beneath his t-shirt. He looked like a fallen angel. Your fallen angel.
"Spread your legs a little more for me," he ordered, his deep voice leaving no room for argument.
You hesitated for a split second, an old instinct to be modest warring with the overwhelming need to please him. But the look in his eyes - fierce, hungry, but underneath it all, still kind and understanding - shattered your reservations. You slowly parted your thighs, exposing yourself to him completely.
To your surprise, he didn't touch you immediately. He just looked, gaze heavy. He took his time, his eyes tracing the curve of your hips and stomach, the dip of your navel, the slick folds of your center.
"Beautiful," he murmured, almost to himself. "Absolutely fucking beautiful."
Then, Eddie leaned forward, bracing his hands on your thighs. The rings pressed into your skin, anchoring you, pressing you open for him. He lowered his head, his breath hot against your inner thigh as you braced yourself for the lashing of his tongue… And then he bit down. Hard.
“Ow, Eddie! What the fuck -“ You cried out, hips bucking, but he held you firm, his grip like iron. He licked the red mark he’d left, soothing the sting, then moved higher, leaving a trail of lighter bites and kisses up your thigh, teasing you, tormenting you.
“Gotta make sure you remember me, sweet girl.”
"Eddie, please," you gasped, hands fisting in the sheets. "S-stop teasing. I need... I n-need..."
"What do you need?" he asked, his voice vibrating against your skin. He was so close, his breath ghosting over where you needed him most, but of course he wouldn't give you the satisfaction. He seemed to get off on your desperation. "Tell me exactly what you need, or I'll keep you here like this all day."
"I told you need your mouth -“
“Yeah?” He placed a searing hot kiss an inch above your clit and you nearly kneed him in the side of the head. “How badly?”
“S-so badly -“
“Where do you want me?”
“This isn’t fucking funny, Eddie.”
He just chuckled, watching you helplessly writhe beneath him, trying to raise your hips to his mouth. “Kinda is, actually.”
A frustrated cry fell from your lips as he kissed you again, this time just a tad lower. Any residual shame or embarrassment for asking what you wanted for was gone, replaced by pure desperation.
“Just… Fuck - I need you t-to eat me out. Please, Eddie."
He let out a satisfied laugh. "With pleasure."
And then he was on you. He didn't ease into it or bother starting slow. He flattened his tongue and licked a long, broad stripe from your entrance up to your clit, tasting you with a groan that vibrated through your entire body. You’d never had someone between your thighs that devoured you with the intensity your friend - well, could you even call him a friend after this? - was currently doing. His mouth was hot and demanding, tongue swirling and flicking with a skill that made your eyes roll back in your head.
Eddie pleasured you with the same finesse with which he played guitar. Which was to say intensely, precisely, and somehow also with a reckless abandon that made his actions seem like second nature. As if he’d been doing this for years, and knew your body as well as he knew his own. He growled against you, the sound muffled by your flesh, his chin scraping against your sensitive skin. Eddie’s hands continued to hold your thighs open, his rings digging in, grounding you. In some twisted way, it felt like he was claiming you, bit by bit. Every time he flicked his tongue over your clit, you saw stars.
"God, Eddie," you moaned, your hips grinding against his face, seeking more. "Yes - I, fuck - just like that -
He hummed agreeably against you, the sensation sending shockwaves through your system. He shifted one of his hands, sliding two long fingers deep inside you without warning. You gasped, your inner walls clamping down around him. He curled his fingers upward, finding that spot inside you that made your vision blur, and began to pump them in and out in a relentless rhythm, all while his tongue continued its assault on your clit.
The dual stimulation was far too much for so early in the morning. You could feel the pressure building low in your belly, a tight coil of pleasure winding tighter and tighter with every thrust of his fingers, every swipe of his tongue. You whimpered pitifully. Sensing you were close, Eddie didn't let up for a moment. If anything, he went harder, sucking your clit into his mouth, flicking rapidly with his tongue while his fingers fucked into you with brutal precision.
"Let go for me, baby," he commanded, voice muffled and breath still hellishly hot against you in the best way. "Lemme feel you. Now."
The command was your undoing. With a cry that tore from your throat, you shattered. Your back arched off the bed, toes curling, and your entire body shaking as release ripped through you. It was intense and overwhelming. A riptide of pleasure that drowned out everything.
Eddie worked you through it, his tongue slowing but never fully stopping, his fingers easing up as you rode out the aftershocks. You collapsed back against the mattress, gasping for air, your body limp and spent. He pulled his fingers out of you slowly, and you nearly whined at the loss. He sat up, his face shiny with your arousal, and looked at you with a dark, satisfied gleam in his eyes.
"I’m not religious, but I think you taste like heaven," he said, bringing both fingers to his mouth and licking them each clean, one by one. The sight was erotic, filthy, and it made your exhausted body twitch with renewed interest.
Leaning down, Eddie braced his hands on either side of your head and captured your mouth in a searing kiss. You could taste yourself on his tongue. It probably should embarrassed you. Make you feel kinda weird. Yet in that moment, it was easily one of the most intimate things you had ever experienced.
"How was that?" he asked, pulling back to look at you, a smug, satisfied smirk playing on his lips. “Feeling any closer to ruination, baby doll?”
"Shut up," you breathed, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him down for another kiss.
He laughed against your mouth, a dark, rich sound that you’d felt like you could become hooked on for life. Eddie pulled back just enough to yank his t-shirt over his head. The fabric hit the floor, and your eyes devoured the expanse of pale skin revealed. He was a bit leaner than you’d expected, but there was a dense, compact strength to him that made your mouth water. A scattering of dark hair trailed down from his navel, disappearing into the waistband of his jeans. His chest was heaving, the heavy tattoos on his ribs stretching as he breathed.
You reached for him, desperate to feel the closeness of his bare skin against yours, but he caught your wrists in one hand, pinning them effortlessly above your head. The position forced your chest up, arching your back, leaving you completely at his mercy.
"Mmm, none of that," he tsked, shaking his head slowly. His free hand trailed down your side, his rings scraping deliciously over your ribs. "I'm in charge here. Remember? You wanted to be ruined? So you’re gonna let me."
He leaned down, biting a path along your collarbone, sharp stinging nips that soothed instantly under the hot press of his tongue. He was mapping you with an obsessive thoroughness, like he was trying to memorize every inch of your body through touch alone. He’d released your wrists, but his hands were everywhere - skimming your waist, gripping your hips, kneading your thighs - constantly moving, as if he needed to feel every bit of you before you vanished into thin air.
"I've thought about this," he admitted against your skin, not meeting your eyes. His voice was a bit softer, as if he wasn’t sure what your reaction would be to finding out he’d been silently lusting after you. "A lot, over the years, if I’m being honest. I've, uh, laid in bed at night picturing exactly how you'd look spread out for me.”
A full-body blush flushed over your skin, and you shivered. “H-hope I met your expectations.”
Eddie finally pulled back to look at you, his eyes burning. "Oh, baby. You surpassed them. Easily.”
On one fluid motion, his hands slid to grip your hips, and the room tilted as he flipped you over. You gasped as you found yourself face-down in the pillows, your ass exposed to the cool air. Before you could move, Eddie gently shoved a pillow beneath your hips, and then his hands were on you once more, massaging the flesh.
"Look at this," he groaned, his thumbs brushing over your entrance as if he hadn’t spent the better part of an hour with his head between your thighs already. "You're fucking perfect."
You felt the bed dip as he moved, and then the metallic clink of a belt buckle being undone. The sound was loud in the quiet room, followed by the lower rasp of a zipper. Your heart hammered against your ribs, a mix of nerves and anticipation so potent it made you lightheaded.
Positioning yourself carefully on your elbows, you glanced over your shoulder to look back at him, watching as he shoved his jeans and boxers down his thighs. Your breath hitched in your throat.
He was... Big.
You’d expected him to be… What? Average? Perhaps a little more, given his height and frame. But this was… A surprise to say the least. He was thick, heavily veined, and seemed almost dauntingly heavy. The flushed head of him already glistening with precum. Eddie’s eyes met yours as he gave you a mischievous grin and wrapped a hand around the base, slowly stroking. The sight of his fist - with those glinting silver rings - pumping himself made your mouth go completely dry.
Eddie smirked. "Like what you see?"
"I..." You swallowed hard, your eyes darting back up to his face. You were tempted to mouth off, make a flippant remark about his ego just to see where your brattiness would take you. But rational thoughts had abandoned your blissed-out brain. So you responded honestly. "You’re, uh, just… A bit bigger than I thought you’d be.”
“Think about my dick often, sweetheart?”
You made a face. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
“But I’m so good at it.” Eddie cocked his head thoughtfully. "Think you can handle it?"
The challenge hung in the air. You wanted to say yes. You wanted to be someone who could take him. Satisfy him. Make him forget every other person he’d ever been with so that this was more than a one-time thing. But looking at the sheer size of him, a spike of genuine apprehension pierced your haze of lust.
"I-I don't know," you admitted, voice trembling ever so slightly. Eddie’s eyes softened, his rough edges vanishing into the familiar sweet man you knew.
"Don't worry," he said, crawling back over you, covering your body with his. The weight of him felt grounding. He nestled his hips against your ass, letting you feel the hot, hard length of him sliding between you. "We’ll go slow, okay?"
“Promise?”
Eddie pressed a kiss between your shoulder blades. “Cross my heart.”
He reached over to your nightstand, fumbling blindly in the drawer until he found a condom. He tore the foil open with his teeth - a move that was unfairly hot for some reason - and maneuvered to roll it on. Then, he shifted his weight, spreading your legs wider with his knees.
"Relax for me, baby,” he murmured, his hand stroking up and down your spine, trying to soothe the tension he could feel radiating off you. "Breathe. Just breathe."
He notched the head against your entrance, pushing forward just enough to barely enter you. The blunt pressure was immediate, a burning stretch that made you gasp into the mattress.
"That's it," he coaxed, his voice low and encouraging. "Open up for me, sweetheart. God, you feel so good already, you know that?”
The praise was a balm as he pushed in deeper, agonizingly slow. You clawed at the sheets, breath hitching in your throat as inch after thick inch breached you. It felt like he was splitting you open, filling you up beyond what you thought possible. The stretch was intense, a sharp, burning friction. You knew that just beneath it would be burgeoning pleasure that made your toes curl - but it still felt far too large.
"Eddie," you whimpered, tears blurring your vision as your face pressed into the mattress. "It's... it's too much. I-I can’t -“
"Shh," he hushed you, leaning down to press kisses along your shoulders, neck, and finally to the sensitive spot behind your ear. "You can take it. I know you can. You're doing so good for me, baby."
Eddie kept pushing, feeding you his length with a relentless, aching pressure. It felt like ages until he’d seated himself fully, hips finally flush against your ass, and you let out a broken moan. You felt so incredibly full - especially at this angle - stretched to your limit with him. You could feel every ridge, every vein, the heavy heat of him pulsing inside you, his heartbeat almost as fast as your own.
"Fuck," he groaned, his head dropping forward to rest between your shoulder blades. He was trembling with the effort of holding still, giving you time to adjust. "It's like you're choking me."
“S-sorry -“
“Oh shit, don’t apologize, angel.” Eddie let out a breathy laugh, shifting ever so slightly to once more run a hand over your back and down to your hip. “You doing okay?”
“Yeah - I - gimme a sec.”
He stayed just as he was for a long moment, letting you get used to the intrusion. You took deep, shuddering breaths, willing your muscles to relax around him. Slowly, the burning pain faded into a dull ache, and the pleasure began to creep back in.
"O-okay. Move," you breathed, pushing your hips back against him slightly, somehow nudging him even deeper. "Please, move."
He let out a guttural sound, part groan, part growl. "Hold on."
“Are you going to ruin me or not, Munson?”
At your goading, Eddie pulled out almost all the way, leaving just the head inside of you, before rocking back in. The force of the thrust knocked the air out of your lungs, a sharp cry tearing from your throat. He set a brutal pace immediately, no more gentle build-up - just hard, deep strokes that rattled your teeth. The bed creaked loudly under the onslaught, the headboard banging rhythmically against the wall. You prayed your neighbors weren’t home, because it was too late to fully silence the sounds he was pulling out of you. Skin slapped against skin - lewd sounds that filled the room, mixing with both your moans as well as his heavy breathing and steady stream of praise.
"Look at you," he gritted out, his hand wrapping around your hip, pulling you back to meet his thrusts. "Taking it so deep. S’like you’re - fucking hell - sucking me in, sweetheart. Startin’ to think you were made for me."
He reached under you, his fingers finding your clit, and he began to rub tight, rapid circles. It felt like your body caught in a vice of pleasure, and your brain was struggling to catch up. Shifting his angle slightly, his next thrust hit a spot inside you that made you see white. You cried out, your entire body convulsing. Quickly taking the hint, he locked onto that spot, abusing it with ruthless precision, driving into you over and over again.
"You like that, baby? You like it when I fuck you right there?"
"Ye- oh god, yes, Eddie, I -“
He was losing control. You could feel it in the way his rhythm faltered, in the way his grip on your hip tightened. He knew you were close, but he was also chasing his own release, using your body to get there, and the thought of him losing himself inside you pushed you closer to the edge.
Just as the surface of the mattress seems to fall away from under you as your release overtop you, Eddie bit down on your shoulder as he slammed into you one last time. He buried himself to the hilt, and stilled. You felt him pulse inside you, the condom filling with his release as he let out a long, ragged moan in your ear. The sensation triggered your own aftershock-like wave that rippled through your exhausted body.
He collapsed on top of you, his weight heavy and suffocating, but you didn't care. You wrapped your arms around his forearms, holding him close, listening to the frantic racing of his heart as it began to slow.
For a long time, neither of you moved. You just lay there, tangled together, sweaty and sticky and completely wrecked. You could feel the harsh pattern of his breathing against your back, the occasional twitch of his hips as he came down, though he hadn’t pulled out of you just yet.
Finally, he shifted, pressing a kiss to the back of your neck. "You okay, sweetheart?" he asked, his voice raspy and wrecked.
"Better than okay," you mumbled into the pillow, a satisfied smile stretching your lips.
He laughed against your skin. "Good. Because after that, I don’t think I want anyone else to have you.”
“Gonna keep me all for yourself, Munson?”
“Obviously.”
Your index finger traced one of the tattooed bats on his forearm thoughtfully. “Because you ruined me?”
“Oh, no sweetheart.” Eddie laughed again, stroking your hair and pressing a kiss to your sweaty temple. “I think you’re the one who ruined me.”
Reader who started calling Rocky pet names out of habit and, after explaining, Rocky loves it. But then reader and Grace start dating and you call him a pet name and suddenly Rocky is seething with jealousy.
“Rock, honey, be careful,” it slips out when he barrels past in his ball one day.
You’re writing on a white board when he squeezes past, knocking into the leg of the table and causing it to shake, sending some utensils flying. Obviously he’s incredibly sturdy (…rocky…), but he can be kind of reckless sometimes.
“No understand second word.” At least he stops rolling around to ask.
Grace looks up from his work bench, glasses sliding down his nose to where they’re almost falling off, and glances between the two of you. He’s in one of his stupid pun shirts that grip his biceps too tight, and you can’t think about that too much or else your mind will wander.
You realize what you said and that now you have to explain pet names to an alien. “Oh uh…” you look back at Ryland for assistance, but he just throws his hands up in a this-one-is-on-you gesture before returning to his work, slipping his pen between his teeth as he thinks.
You look back to Rocky who is eagerly awaiting your explanation.
“…It’s a pet name. A term of endearment,” you decide to go with, “Like something you call someone you care about.”
He’s quiet for a moment, then, “care about Rocky? Question.”
You’re shocked that it’s a question. You squat down to be semi-level with him, hand finding the top of his ball, “yeah. Of course I do Rocky.”
He extends himself so his carapace bonks the tops of the ball where your hand is. The ball does a great job at insulation, but you can still feel a little more heat seep through when he does.
“Amaze amaze amaze. Rocky cares about humans too, statement.”
You smile, but then remember something else, “Oh! Honey is also a food, though.”
He shrinks back down, you assume because he’s put off by the mention of eating. He takes a single step back, ball rolling a small amount.
“Rocky food? Question.”
You burst out in laughter, Ryland can’t help but join too.
“No! Rocky not food! Honey is sweet, so you call someone honey when their personality is sweet too.”
“Oh, understand. Rocky sweet!” He does his little happy chirps and jazz hands that always make you get a little cuteness aggression.
“…debatable…” you hear Grace murmur from his station, probably because Rocky rolled over his toe this morning.
“No, Rocky sweet, statement. Other human said so, Grace is dumb dumb dumb human, smart smart smart human call Rocky sweet.”
You stand and laugh, happy to gang up on Ryland with Rocky, “yeah, Ry, I’m smart smart smart.”
It’s months later after you and Ryland finally stop pretending that you only love each other as ‘crew mates’ that it gets brought up again.
“Ry, can you pass the p20,” you’re running more experiments on the taumoeba, at this point more out of boredom than anything.
He hands the pipette to you from across the bench. “Thank you, honey.” The word slides out without you even realizing it, but someone in the room definitely takes notice.
Rocky stops his ministrations with his xenonite, dropping it and rapidly tapping on the barrier.
“What. Grace not honey, Rocky is honey! Only Rocky get pet name, statement.”
You look up incredulously, unaware that Rocky felt so strongly about his pet name.
Grace seems fairly shocked at his insistence too, but he’s not one to pass an opportunity to tease Rocky. He tilts his head like he’s thinking before looking over at Rocky, “Well, no bud, I’m pretty sure I’m honey. Maybe when you can pass a pipette…” Ryland teases.
“No no no, Rocky honey, Grace is leaky space blob, other human knows Rocky better.”
You can’t stop your giggle. It feels a little mean because clearly Rocky is actually passionate about this, but his possession is cute.
“Okay! I’m sorry!” You say through the giggles, “It was an accident. Rocky is honey. Ry, you…we’ll workshop it.” You’re not sure if he even likes pet names, let alone which ones.
He pouts across the lab bench to you.
“No workshop. No special name for Grace, only Rocky.”
description: you’ve always been sweet. too sweet, probably. then, eddie starts taking you on dates, putting cigarettes to your lips, and looking at you like he wants to ruin you just a little bit.
pairing: eddie x henderson!reader (fem!reader)
tags: eddie x henderson!reader, innocent!reader, virgin!reader, soft corruption, "good girl" energy, sweethearts you to DEATH, firsts, mutual pining, praise kink undertones, protective eddie, eddie not knowing what to do with all of this softness, "jesus christ" 24/7, shy affection, "there she is", "that's my girl", horny but sweet
TW: NSFW (18+) minors do not interact!!, PiV, smoking
WC: 9.9k
A/N: requested by @ihaveaspoon i hope you enjoy!!!! reblog for ya girl, if you don't mind ;) why do i lowkey love a corruption fic🫣 *proofread as best as i could, my brain hurts, sorry
People always say the same things about you.
Sweet, polite, and pretty in that soft sort of way that makes old women at the grocery store smile at you fondly and teachers immediately trust you with passing out papers.
The kind of girl who remembers everyone’s favorite candy, who waves when people let her cross the street, who still says bless you when someone sneezes, even if she doesn’t know them. Hawkins is small enough that kindness stands out, and yours seems endless.
It’s almost strange, really.
Not because you’re naive exactly, but because the world has not managed to harden you yet. You still help Dustin with his homework even after he acts like a little asshole all through dinner. You still leave little notes in his lunchbox and compliment strangers’ outfits and smile at people like you genuinely hope they’re having a good day.
And maybe that’s why nobody’s ever dated you.
Not for lack of trying, because boys definitely do. They trip over themselves around you constantly, all awkward grins and sweaty palms and invitations to the movies that you somehow never realize are dates until weeks later when Robin physically grabs your shoulders and says, “Honey, he was flirting with you.”
Your response had only been a confused blink. “He was?”
Robin had stared at you for a very long moment before muttering something about you being “a baby deer in the middle of hunting season.”
The thing is, romance has always felt like something happening around you instead of to you. Girls in your grade pass notes about kissing boys behind the bleachers while you sit beside them, doodling little stars in the margins of your notebook.
Nancy comes over ranting about Steve, and you listen carefully, chin in your palm, like she’s telling you a story from another planet entirely. Then there’s Eddie. And honestly, maybe the universe should’ve warned him first.
Because Eddie is used to people looking at him and immediately deciding what he is before he even opens his mouth. Freak. Burnout. Drug dealer. Satanist. Every adult in Hawkins looks at him like he’s one wrong move away from corrupting their children, and every girl who flirts with him does it with this expectation that he’ll play into the role they’ve already created in their heads.
But you don’t, you look at him the same way you look at everyone else: warmly.
The first time he really notices it is after Hellfire one night, when everyone else has already cleared out of the drama room except you, sitting cross-legged in one of the chairs, waiting for Dustin to finish arguing with Mike about some campaign detail. Eddie’s shoving books back into his bag when you quietly slide a can of Coke across the table toward him.
“I remembered this was your favorite,” you say simply.
And Eddie just stares at you. Because you remembered that. Not in a flirty way. Not trying to get anything from him. You’d just noticed him mentioning it once weeks ago and tucked the information away in that sweet little head of yours like it mattered.
“Jesus,” he mutters under his breath, dragging a hand down his face.
You blink at him softly. “What?”
“Nothin’, sweetheart.”
The nickname slips out before he can stop it. And the worst part is the way your entire face warms at it, ducking your head shyly like nobody’s ever called you something like that before. Which, horrifyingly enough for Eddie, might actually be true.
Steve’s living room is already loud by the time Eddie gets there.
Robin is halfway through aggressively arguing with Nancy about what movie they’re watching, Steve looks one inconvenience away from death on the couch, and somewhere in the kitchen, Dustin is complaining about the lack of “real snacks” like he personally funds the grocery shopping.
It’s warm inside the Harrington house, all yellow lighting and cluttered blankets draped over the couch cushions, the kind of easy domesticity Eddie always feels a little strange stepping into. Then he sees you.
Curled up in the corner of the couch with sock-covered feet tucked beneath you, smiling the second the front door opens.
“Eddie!” you say brightly, like you hadn’t just seen him yesterday at Hellfire. “There’s still space next to me.”
That immediately becomes the worst moment of Eddie’s entire life.
Because there is space next to you, a very obvious space. One you apparently saved for him without thinking twice. Robin notices the way Eddie visibly hesitates in the doorway and has to fake a coughing fit into her sleeve to keep from laughing.
Eddie drops onto the couch beside you with what he hopes resembles casualness. “Well, sweetheart, how thoughtful of you. Saved me from sitting on the crusty Harrington carpet.”
Steve flips him off from the recliner. “You’re lucky you were invited at all.”
You giggle softly at that, and Eddie immediately has to look away from you.
The movie starts eventually, though Eddie barely absorbs any of it. Not when you’re sitting tucked against his side close enough that your knees keep brushing every few minutes. Every time it happens, you murmur a tiny “sorry” under your breath before doing it all over again thirty seconds later, entirely unaware of the psychological warfare you’re inflicting on him.
At some point during the movie, you start reaching into the popcorn bowl in his lap instead of the one on the coffee table. Again, absentmindedly. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world to lean across him every few minutes with your soft perfume surrounding him and your sleeve brushing against his rings.
Eddie thinks he may actually be dying.
“Oh my god, this part is so sad,” you whisper at one point, turning toward him with wide eyes.
Eddie blinks. “Sweetheart, this guy has been on screen for maybe four minutes.”
“I know,” you whisper back earnestly. “But look at him.”
And Christ.
That’s another thing about you, you care about everything. Movie characters with three lines. Stray cats behind Melvald’s. Random kids crying in the grocery store. You move through the world with this unbearable softness that makes Eddie feel simultaneously protective and completely ruined by you.
About halfway through the movie, the room cools enough that you quietly reach for the blanket bunched beside Eddie’s leg. He lifts it automatically to help you pull it over yourself, only for you to immediately lift one side toward him too.
“You’ll get cold,” you murmur.
Eddie stares at you for a beat too long before slowly ducking beneath the blanket beside you. Across the room, Robin physically presses her lips together to stop herself from making a noise. Then, somehow, things get worse. Because sometime during the second movie, you get sleepy.
Eddie notices it in little ways first. The slower blinking, the way your words trail off halfway through comments. Eventually, your head tips sideways against his shoulder so naturally that it almost seems unconscious.
The entire room goes quiet for exactly two seconds. Not because of you, but because Eddie completely freezes.
You don’t even realize what you’ve done at first, already half-asleep against him beneath the blanket. Then your eyes blink open slightly, face warming the tiniest bit when you realize where you’re leaning.
“Oh,” you mumble softly. “Is this okay?”
Eddie thinks his heart physically hurts.
“Yeah,” he says quietly. “Yeah, sweetheart. ‘Course it is.”
You smile at that. Small and sleepy and trusting. Then your eyes drift shut again against his shoulder like there was never a possibility he’d say no. Robin watches Eddie very carefully after that. Specifically, the way he doesn’t move for the next hour, not even once.
By the time the movie ends, you’ve wandered into the kitchen with Nancy to help clean up empty soda cans while Dustin argues with Steve over something stupid in the dining room. Eddie is still sitting on the couch like he’s recovering from a near-death experience when Robin drops into the seat beside him.
“You are so unbelievably into her,” she says immediately.
Eddie scoffs without looking at her. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Bullshit. You looked at her like a Victorian man seeing an ankle.”
That finally gets a reluctant snort out of him. Robin grins, leaning back into the couch cushions. “She likes you too, y’know.”
Eddie’s expression changes instantly. “No, she doesn’t.” The response comes too fast.
Robin’s face softens slightly beneath the teasing. “Eddie—”
“She’s nice to everybody,” he cuts in quietly, eyes flicking toward the hallway where you disappeared moments ago. “That’s just who she is.”
And maybe that’s the problem, because Eddie knows what people like him do to things that are soft.
Friday afternoon sunlight spills warm through the hallway windows, catching against Eddie’s face as he leans against the lockers outside your classroom like he’s been there a while, pretending not to wait for you.
Which is exactly what he’s been doing.
You almost miss him at first while stuffing books into your bag, too focused on making sure Dustin remembered his science worksheet this morning. It’s only when someone whistles obnoxiously down the hall, and Eddie flips them off without even turning around, that your eyes finally land on him.
And immediately, your stomach does something strange. Not bad, strange, just strange. Because Eddie’s looking at you already.
Not casually either. His dark eyes lock onto yours the second you notice him, and for a moment, he looks almost nervous, which feels impossible considering this is Eddie. Eddie, who performs lunch table monologues and flirts with teachers for extra credit, acts like the entire world is his stage.
You smile anyway.
“There she is,” he says, pushing off the lockers.
“Hi,” you answer softly, adjusting the strap of your bag higher on your shoulder. “Were you waiting for someone?”
Eddie actually laughs at that.
“Sweetheart,” he says, stepping closer, “you are genuinely killin’ me.”
Your brows pull together a little. “What?”
“Nothin’.” He shakes his head, grinning to himself before dragging his rings along the back of his neck. Suddenly, he looks oddly uncertain again. “Uh… actually, I was waitin’ for you.”
“Oh.” The word comes out quieter than you mean for it to.
The hallway around you buzzes with noise, lockers slamming and people shoving past each other on their way outside, but it suddenly feels very far away. Eddie shifts his weight once, eyes flicking over your face like he’s trying to gauge something.
Then he says, “You wanna go out with me tonight?”
“You mean…” You blink once. “Like a date?”
Eddie’s mouth twitches slightly. “Yeah, sweetheart. Like a date.”
And maybe it’s embarrassing how fast your face warms.
Not because you don’t want to go. God, you do. You think maybe you’ve wanted to for longer than you realized. It’s just that nobody’s ever looked at you quite like Eddie is right now, all careful confidence hiding something softer underneath.
“Okay,” you say before you can overthink it.
Eddie stills. “Okay?”
You smile a little shyly. “Yeah. I’d really like that.”
For a second, Eddie genuinely looks stunned.
Then the slowest grin spreads across his face, crooked and warm and so unfairly pretty that you have to glance down at your shoes for a second just to collect yourself.
“Jesus Christ,” he mutters under his breath, mostly to himself.
You laugh softly. “What?”
“There’s that thing again where you say yes to me like I just asked if you wanted a pencil instead of—” He cuts himself off with another disbelieving shake of his head. “Tonight. I’ll pick you up at seven?”
“Okay.”
“Okay,” he repeats, like he still can’t believe it.
He walks backward down the hallway afterward, still grinning at you in this helpless sort of way, before finally turning toward the exit. You stand there for a moment after he disappears, your heartbeat feeling strangely uneven beneath your ribs.
Then, naturally, you go find Robin.
She’s already behind the Family Video counter when you walk in later that afternoon, lazily rewinding tapes with Steve half-asleep beside her. The second she sees your face, her eyes narrow suspiciously.
“What happened?”
You blink. “Nothing happened.”
“That is not a nothing face.”
Steve lifts his head slightly from the counter. “What’s a nothing face?”
Robin points at you dramatically. “That face. That’s the face girls make before they tell you life-altering information.”
Your cheeks warm immediately. “It’s not life-altering.”
“Oh my god,” Robin gasps. “You kissed someone.”
“What? No!”
Steve snorts tiredly into the counter. Robin leans forward. “Then what?”
You hesitate for half a second before saying quietly, “Eddie asked me on a date.”
Then Robin slams both palms onto the counter so hard Steve nearly falls out of his chair. “I KNEW IT.”
Your face warms instantly beneath her stare. Steve looks significantly more awake now, too, blinking between the two of you while Robin points at you like you’ve personally validated her entire worldview.
“I told you he liked her,” she says to Steve.
Steve shrugs. “I mean, yeah. The guy looks at her like she personally invented music.”
“Oh my god,” you mumble, covering your face briefly with your sleeve.
Robin immediately softens at that, grinning as she leans her elbows onto the counter. “Aw, honey, don’t look embarrassed. This is cute.”
Cute. The word alone makes your stomach flutter strangely.
You glance down shyly, tracing your thumb along the strap of your bag. “It’s just a date.”
“Mhm,” Robin hums knowingly. “And what exactly are we wearing to this very casual, definitely-not-important date?”
You blink. “I don’t know yet.”
Steve finally sits up straighter. “Wait, hold on. Tonight tonight?”
You nod once. Robin gasps dramatically. “Oh, this is serious.”
“It is not serious,” you protest immediately.
Robin’s expression turns fond in that way it sometimes does around you, all teasing melting into something softer. “Sweetie, he stood outside your classroom looking nervous and was a statue when you fell asleep on him. You’ve altered his brain chemistry.”
You hide your face again with a quiet groan while Steve laughs under his breath.
“I’m serious,” Robin continues. “I have literally never seen him act normal around anybody he’s interested in.”
Before you can answer, Robin suddenly narrows her eyes. “Wait. Have you even been on a date before?”
You hesitate just long enough for her to gasp. “Oh, my god.”
“It’s not a big deal,” you say quickly.
Steve blinks at you. “Like… ever?”
You shrug awkwardly. “I don’t know. Nobody’s really asked.”
Robin and Steve share a look over your head that feels deeply loaded.
“What?” you ask suspiciously.
Robin shakes her head slowly. “Nothing. I just think half the male population of Hawkins is profoundly stupid.”
You laugh quietly at that, cheeks still warm. “You guys are making this sound way more dramatic than it is.”
Robin reaches over the counter to squeeze your hand once. “No, honey. We’re making it sound exactly as dramatic as it is.”
By seven o’clock, your bedroom looks like a small tornado passed through it.
Not because you’re trying overly hard, exactly. More because every outfit suddenly feels wrong the second you put it on. Robin’s teasing voice still echoes faintly in your head every time you glance in the mirror.
"Eddie Munson stood outside your classroom, nervous."
Which is ridiculous, Eddie doesn’t get nervous. However, your stomach has been fluttering stupidly for the last hour anyway.
Eventually, you settle on something simple. Something that still feels like you. Soft sweater, jeans that fit nicely, a little lip gloss Nancy once insisted you’d “thank her for later.” By the time you finally step out of your bedroom, the house is quiet except for the television murmuring faintly from the living room.
Dustin is sprawled across the couch with a bowl of cereal balanced on his stomach despite the fact it’s fully evening. He glances up absentmindedly at first.
His entire face lights up. “Whoa.”
You immediately laugh nervously. “What?”
“You look pretty.”
The sincerity in his voice catches you slightly off guard. Dustin sits up straighter on the couch, grinning at you in a way that suddenly reminds you painfully that he’s still your little brother underneath all the dramatics and endless talking.
“You really think so?”
“Duh.” He gestures vaguely with his spoon. “Eddie’s gonna freak out.”
Your cheeks warm instantly. “Dustin.”
“What? He likes you like… aggressively.”
You laugh softly despite yourself, smoothing your hands nervously over your sleeves. “Robin said the same thing.”
“Because it’s true,” Dustin says, like it’s obvious. “He talks about you all the time.”
That makes you blink. “He does?”
“Oh my god,” Dustin groans, dropping back dramatically against the couch cushions. “You seriously have no idea, do you?”
Before you can answer, headlights sweep briefly across the front window.
Dustin notices your expression and grins even wider. “You’re nervous.”
“I am not.”
“You are,” he says delightedly. “This is amazing.”
Then there’s a knock at the door, and your heartbeat feels too loud. Dustin looks between you and the front door with poorly concealed excitement before jumping up from the couch first.
“Oh, I’m answering it.”
“Dustin—”
Too late. He yanks the front door open with the energy of a child on Christmas morning.
Eddie’s standing on the porch in dark jeans and his leather jacket, curls slightly messy like he’s been dragging nervous hands through them.
He’s holding a small bouquet of flowers that look suspiciously like they came from the little stand outside Melvald’s, and for once in his life, Eddie Munson actually seems unsure of himself.
Then his eyes land on you behind Dustin, and he completely forgets how to speak. Dustin looks back and forth between the two of you with visible delight.
“Oh my god,” he whispers dramatically. “He is freaking out.”
Eddie blinks once like he’s rebooting. “Henderson, I will kill you.”
“You brought flowers,” Dustin says smugly.
Eddie ignores him entirely, still staring at you in a way that makes your chest feel warm all over again. “Hi, sweetheart.”
“Hi.” The word comes out softer than you intended.
Eddie swallows once. Then, very carefully, he holds the flowers out toward you. “These are for you.”
“Be home by ten!” Dustin calls dramatically as Eddie leads you back toward the van.
You pause halfway down the walkway. “Since when do you give me a curfew?”
“Since now,” he says importantly, leaning against the front doorframe. “And no funny business.”
Eddie scoffs loudly without looking back. “You are literally fifteen.”
“And wiser than both of you combined.”
You laugh softly under your breath as Eddie opens the passenger door for you with an exaggerated bow.
“Goodbye, Dustin.”
“GOODBYE. BE SAFE. DON’T GET PREGNANT.”
“Oh my god,” you groan, face burning as Eddie bursts into helpless laughter beside you.
The front door slams shut before you can retaliate further.
“Your brother is insane.”
“You encourage him.”
“Because he’s funny.”
“He’s awful.”
Eddie laughs again as the van rumbles to life beneath you. The sound settles warmly through the small space alongside the radio's quiet static, and for a little while, things feel easy.
Eddie drums his fingers against the steering wheel while he drives one-handed, occasionally glancing over at you with this small private smile that makes your stomach flutter every single time.
It isn’t until he pulls into the overlook outside town later that night that things start to shift.
The place is mostly empty this late, only a couple of scattered cars parked beneath the dark stretch of sky overlooking Hawkins. “This okay?” he asks.
You nod immediately. “Yeah. It’s pretty up here.”
Eddie’s eyes linger on your face for a second too long before he looks away again with a quiet hum. “Yeah,” he says softly. “It is.”
Then, after a moment, he reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a crumpled pack of cigarettes.
You watch absentmindedly as he taps one loose and settles it between his lips, the flame from his lighter briefly illuminating the sharp lines of his face in warm orange. Smoke curls slowly into the night air once he exhales.
You don’t know why you ask. Maybe curiosity, maybe because everything about Eddie feels a little intoxicating lately.
“Can I try one?”
Eddie freezes mid-exhale. Slowly, he turns toward you. “What?”
You shrug a little, suddenly oddly shy beneath the intensity of his stare. “Just once.”
For a second, he just looks at you. “You’ve never smoked before.”
It isn’t a question. You shake your head once. “No.”
Eddie lets out the faintest breath through his nose, eyes dragging away toward the windshield for a moment. His rings tap softly against the cigarette resting between his fingers.
And maybe this is exactly the kind of thing everyone in Hawkins expects from him. Corrupting nice girls in parked vans late at night. The thought should probably make him feel guilty. Instead, all he can think about is the way you’re looking at him right now, all soft curiosity and trust.
“Sweetheart,” he says slowly, “you really shouldn’t ask me things like that.”
Your brows pull together slightly. “Why?”
Eddie glances back at you then, dark eyes unreadable in the low lighting.
“Because,” he says quietly, “I’m probably gonna say yes.”
Before you can overthink it, Eddie sighs softly and shifts closer across the seat, cigarette still balanced between his fingers. “C’mere.”
You lean closer instinctively, knees brushing his in the cramped space between the seats. Eddie watches you the entire time, gaze flicking once toward your mouth before he catches himself.
“This’ll probably taste awful, by the way.”
You smile a little. “You’re really selling it.”
“Just bein’ honest.”
Carefully, he lifts the cigarette toward your lips. And Christ. The sight alone nearly does him in.
You hesitate only briefly before taking a tentative inhale exactly the way he showed you. Almost immediately, your face scrunches up as you start coughing lightly into your sleeve.
Eddie laughs instantly, reaching over to rub a warm hand against your back. “Easy, easy— there she is.”
“That is horrible,” you rasp between coughs, eyes watering slightly.
“I did warn you.”
You’re still laughing softly at yourself when you finally glance back up at him, only to realize how close he is now. For a moment, neither of you moves.
The cigarette burns slowly between Eddie’s fingers, forgotten entirely now as his eyes stay fixed on yours. You can still feel the warmth of his hand through your sweater, where it rests against your back. Though the look on his face is becoming significantly less careful by the second.
“You okay?” he asks quietly.
You nod once.
“Yeah?”
“Mhm.”
Your voice comes out softer than usual, and Eddie notices immediately.
“Jesus Christ,” he mutters under his breath, almost to himself, dragging his eyes away from your mouth with visible effort.
His hand slips from your back only so he can lean farther into the seat, head tipping briefly against it like he’s trying to regain control of his own thoughts.
You watch him for a second before smiling slightly. “What?”
Eddie laughs once, but there’s no real humor in it. “You have genuinely no idea what you do to me, huh?”
Your stomach flips hard enough to make you glance away. Not because you don’t understand what he means, you do.
Maybe not fully, or with the same confidence other girls seem to have, but you understand enough to feel the tension thickening between you now. The difference is you’re not afraid of it, not with him.
“You make me nervous, too,” you admit quietly.
That gets Eddie’s attention instantly. His head turns toward you again, curls falling slightly into his eyes. “I do?”
You nod, fingers fidgeting lightly in your lap. “You always look at me like you’re thinking something.”
Eddie goes very still. Because he is, constantly.
And suddenly, he’s picturing every single filthy thought he’s had about you over the last few weeks while you sat beside him smiling sweetly like you trusted him with your whole heart.
Every moment, he’s imagined pulling you into his lap, kissing you until you forgot your own name, hearing soft sounds fall from your mouth, all because of him.
Dangerous thoughts, especially about someone like you.
“You really wanna know what I’m thinking?” he asks finally, voice lower now.
The question sends heat crawling up your neck. Still, you nod.
Eddie studies your face for another long second. Then he leans closer again, slowly enough for you to stop him if you want to. You don’t.
“You sit next to me,” he murmurs, eyes flicking between yours and your mouth, “lookin’ all pretty and sweet all the time, and you don’t even realize what it does to me.”
Your breath catches quietly.
“Sweetheart,” he says softly, almost pained, “I’m trying my best here not to ruin you.”
The word ruin sends a pulse of heat low in your stomach. His gaze darkens immediately at your reaction.
“There she is,” he says quietly, almost pleased. “That got your attention.”
Your face burns. “Eddie…”
“What?” he asks innocently, though there’s nothing innocent about him anymore. “You asked.”
You should probably tell him to stop. Instead, you whisper, “Keep talking.”
Eddie actually closes his eyes briefly at that. When he opens them again, his face slips into something soft, following something dangerous. Like the restraint he’s been clinging to all night is finally beginning to slip.
“You’re trouble,” he murmurs.
You laugh nervously. “I thought you were supposed to be the bad influence.”
“Oh, trust me, doll.” Eddie’s hand slides slowly along your knee, warm and deliberate enough to make your pulse jump. “I am.”
The touch alone feels impossibly intimate. Not because it’s inappropriate, not because it’s even that scandalous. But because it’s Eddie.
Because he’s touching you like he’s trying very hard not to scare you away while simultaneously imagining a thousand worse things.
“You know what the worst part is?” he asks quietly.
You shake your head once.
“I don’t even think you mean to do it.”
His thumb brushes absentmindedly against your knee, and you swear he notices the exact second your breathing changes.
“You smile at me,” he continues softly, “sit close to me, remember little details that nobody should remember… and every time you do, I think maybe this is the moment I finally lose my mind.”
Your heart is pounding so hard now you’re convinced he can hear it. Especially when his eyes drop once more toward your mouth.
Eddie’s thumb is still stroking slow circles over your knee, his dark eyes locked on your mouth like he’s starving for it. You can barely breathe.
“Eddie…” you whisper, not sure what you’re even asking for.
He lets out a shaky breath, like your voice alone is undoing him. “Yeah, sweetheart?”
You don’t answer with words. Instead, you lean in the last few inches and press your lips to his: soft, uncertain, barely a kiss at all, more like a gentle brush.
Eddie freezes for half a second, then groans low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your mouth. His hand slides up to cup the back of your neck, careful, as he tilts his head and kisses you back properly, like he’s teaching you how good it can feel.
You make a tiny surprised sound when his tongue traces your bottom lip, and he pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, breathing hard.
“Easy, baby,” he murmurs, voice rough. “We can stop anytime. Just tell me.”
“I don’t want to stop,” you whisper, cheeks burning. Your hands are trembling as you reach up and curl your fingers into his jacket. Eddie’s eyes flutter shut like the words physically pain him. “You’re gonna kill me, you know that?”
He kisses you again, deeper this time, guiding you with gentle pressure until your mouth opens for him. The slide of his tongue against yours makes heat pool low in your belly, unfamiliar and overwhelming.
You try to match him, tentative and sweet, and when you shyly suck on his tongue, he makes a broken noise and pulls you closer across the seat.
He pants against your lips while his hand stays gentle on your neck, thumb stroking your jaw, but his other hand grips the edge of the seat like he’s holding himself back from devouring you.
You kiss him harder, braver now, and he rewards you with a soft moan that goes straight between your legs. When you accidentally graze his bottom lip with your teeth, something you’ve only ever seen in movies, he jerks, fingers tightening in your hair.
Eventually, he pulls back, eyes dark, lips swollen. “Back of the van?” he asks, almost hesitant. “Only if you want. We don’t have to—”
You nod before he can finish, heart hammering. “I want to. With you.”
Eddie helps you climb through to the back, spreading out the blankets he keeps there like he’s making a nest for you. He lays you down so gently it makes your chest ache, then settles over you on his elbows, careful not to crush you.
“Look at me, baby,” he says softly, brushing hair from your face. “We go as slow as you need. Tell me if anything hurts or feels weird, okay? Promise me.”
“I promise,” you whisper, reaching up to touch his cheek.
He kisses you again, slower, deeper, until you’re squirming beneath him.
His hands stay respectful at first, stroking your sides and waist, until you arch into him and he finally slides one under your sweater. The warmth of his palm on your bare skin makes you gasp.
“So soft,” he murmurs against your neck, kissing down the column of your throat. “So fucking perfect.”
You’re trembling when he helps you out of your sweater and bra, but not from fear. Eddie looks at you like you’re something holy, eyes reverent as he cups your breasts, thumbs brushing your nipples until they tighten.
“Eddie—” Your voice breaks on his name when he leans down and takes one into his mouth, gentle suction and slow flicks of his tongue. You’ve never felt anything like it. Your hands fly to his hair, gripping curls, and he groans in approval.
“That’s it, sweetheart. Hold onto me.”
He works you open with patient fingers later, after your jeans and panties are gone, whispering praise the whole time.
“Relax for me, baby… just like that. Good girl. So wet already, fuck. All for me?”
You nod frantically, hips twitching. When he curls his fingers just right, you cry out, shocked by the sharp burst of pleasure.
“There?” he asks, voice low and pleased. He does it again, watching your face. “Yeah? You like that?”
You can barely speak, just whimper and nod. He keeps talking you through it, gentle but filthy, until you’re shaking apart on his fingers with a broken little moan.
He kisses you through it, then rests his forehead against yours while he rolls on a condom. “You sure, sweetheart? We can stop right here. I’d be happy just making you come all night.”
You shake your head, pulling him closer. “I want you. Please, Eddie.”
He enters you so slowly it almost hurts, a combination of pain and how careful he’s being, how full you feel. He stops every inch, murmuring against your temple.
“Breathe, baby. That’s it… doing so good for me. So tight—fuck, you feel incredible. Breathe, okay?”
When he bottoms out, you both moan. He stays still, buried deep, kissing you softly until the stretch eases into something warm and aching and good.
“Move,” you whisper, nails digging into his back. “Please.”
He rocks into you gently at first, then a little deeper when you start lifting your hips to meet him. Every thrust is measured, his voice a constant low rumble in your ear; praise, dirty little observations, encouragement.
“Look at you taking me so well… my sweet girl. Never thought I’d get to have you like this.”
You get bolder as it builds, wrapping your legs around his waist, experimentally clenching around him. Eddie’s rhythm falters.
“Shit—baby, do that again.”
You do, shy but eager, and he groans like he’s dying. On impulse, you tilt your head and bite his shoulder. Not hard, but just enough to leave a mark. Eddie curses loudly, his hips snapping forward harder for a second before he catches himself.
“Fuck, you’re gonna make me lose it,” he laughs breathlessly, kissing you deep.
He reaches between you and rubs your clit in tight circles, voice growing rougher as you both get close.
“Come on, baby. Let me feel you. Want you to come on my cock—yeah, just like that. Good girl. So good for me.”
You shatter with his name on your lips, clenching around him so hard his thrusts turn erratic. He follows right after, burying his face in your neck as he comes with a broken moan, hips jerking.
Afterward, he stays inside you for a long moment, stroking your hair, pressing soft kisses to your flushed face.
“You okay?” he whispers, voice tender. “Did I hurt you?”
You shake your head, smiling shyly as you nuzzle into him. “It was perfect. You were perfect.”
Eddie laughs softly, pulling the blanket over both of you. “Yeah? Even when I almost lost my mind because you bit me?”
Eddie’s arm is wrapped carefully around your waist, fingers absentmindedly tracing slow patterns against your skin like he can’t stop touching you now that he’s allowed to. Not that you mind.
Your head rests against his chest, listening to his heartbeat slowly come back down while his other hand plays gently with your hair. Every few seconds, he presses absent little kisses to the top of your head like he’s doing it unconsciously, like affection simply spills out of him naturally around you.
You feel him shift slightly beneath you after a minute, enough that you tilt your chin up to look at him. He’s already staring down at you, dark curls messy, lips slightly swollen, expression somewhere between completely wrecked and deeply concerned.
“…You sure you’re okay?” he asks again quietly.
The question makes your chest ache a little. Not because it’s upsetting, but because he sounds genuinely nervous about it.
You smile softly almost immediately. “Yeah.”
Eddie studies your face carefully anyway, like he’s searching for any sign you don’t mean it. “Yeah?” he repeats.
“Mhm.”
“You promise?”
A quiet laugh leaves you then, small and sleepy and warm from where you’re curled against him. “Eddie.”
“What?” he says defensively, though his hand tightens slightly around your waist. “I’m serious.”
“I know.” Your fingers drift lazily along the chain around his neck while you look up at him. “I’m okay.”
Eddie exhales slowly through his nose, tension visibly easing from his shoulders. “Jesus Christ,” he mutters, mostly to himself.
You smile a little wider. “You say that a lot.”
“That’s because you keep doin’ things that make me need divine intervention.”
Your laugh this time is brighter, and Eddie immediately looks at you like he’s just won something.
There’s still this almost disbelieving softness in his expression now, like he hasn’t fully processed that this actually happened. That you happened.
“You’re thinkin’ too hard,” you murmur.
His mouth twitches slightly. “Can you blame me?”
You shrug a little against him. “Maybe.”
“Sweetheart,” he says quietly, brushing his knuckles gently along your cheek, “you trusted me with your first time. I think I’m allowed to spiral a little.”
Heat blooms softly across your face at the words.
“You’re really okay?” he asks one more time, softer now.
You nod against him. “Yeah.”
Then, after a tiny pause: “It was nice.”
Eddie goes completely still underneath you. Slowly, he lifts his head enough to stare down at you properly. “Nice?”
You blink innocently. “Yeah.”
A laugh bursts out of him so suddenly it startles you.
“Baby,” he says through his grin, “I am never letting you describe that as nice again.”
Your face warms instantly as you hide it against his chest with a groan, and Eddie just laughs harder, wrapping both arms around you tighter while pressing another kiss into your hair.
“There she is,” he murmurs fondly. “My sweet girl.”
The next morning feels strangely dreamy. Not in some dramatic life-changing way.
Dustin is still loudly arguing with the television before noon, the neighbor’s dog still won’t stop barking, and Hawkins still looks exactly the same outside your bedroom window.
Every time your mind drifts back to the night before, heat creeps slowly up your neck all over again. Eddie’s hands on your waist. The sound of his voice going rough when you kissed him back. The way he kept checking in afterward, like your comfort mattered more to him than anything else in the world.
You think maybe that’s your favorite part. Not the sex itself, though that had certainly been overwhelming in ways you’re still trying to process. It’s the fact that Eddie held you afterward like something precious.
The phone rings around two in the afternoon. You perk up instantly from your spot sprawled on the living room carpet, flipping through a magazine. Dustin glances over from the couch suspiciously while you practically scramble for it.
“Hello?”
A small pause. Then: “Hey, sweetheart.”
Your stomach flips immediately. You smile before you can help it, curling the phone cord loosely around your finger. “Hi.”
Eddie goes quiet for a second on the other end, like maybe hearing your voice affected him too much. When he speaks again, there’s a smile tucked into his words.
“How’re you feelin’ today?”
Warmth floods your face instantly. “I’m okay.”
“Yeah?”
“Mhm.”
Another tiny pause. “Good.”
From the couch, Dustin narrows his eyes. “Is that Eddie?”
You wave him off blindly while Eddie snorts quietly through the phone. “Your brother sounds possessive.”
“He’s nosy.”
“I heard that,” Dustin calls loudly.
You laugh softly, and Eddie goes quiet again for half a second in that way he keeps doing now, like hearing you laugh still catches him off guard.
“So,” he says eventually, voice lower now, easier. “I was wonderin’ if maybe you wanted to come to the Hideout tonight.”
“The bar?”
“Mm.” You can practically hear him lighting a cigarette through the phone. “Thought maybe I could buy you a drink. Since you’re all grown up now.”
Your face burns instantly. “Eddie.”
“What?” he asks innocently. “You are.”
You tuck your hair behind your ear shyly despite the fact that he can’t see you. “I’ve never been to the Hideout before.”
“I know.”
And for some reason, the way he says it sends warmth straight through you again. Like he enjoys being the first person to show you these things.
“Only if you want to,” he adds after a second, softer this time. “No pressure.”
You smile immediately at that. “I wanna go.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Eddie exhales quietly through his nose, almost sounding relieved. “Alright, sweetheart. I’ll come get you around eight.”
“Okay.”
There’s another pause afterward that stretches warm and comfortable between you both. Then Eddie says, quieter now, “Missed you today.”
Your heart stutters embarrassingly hard. “Oh.”
A soft laugh crackles through the receiver. “There’s that little sound again.”
“What sound?”
“The one you make when I say somethin’ that gets in your head.”
You duck your face instinctively, even though he still can’t see you. From the couch, Dustin groans dramatically. “You are smiling so weird right now.”
The Hideout smells faintly like cigarettes, beer, and old wood, the second Eddie pushes the door open for you.
It’s darker inside than you expected, lit mostly by warm amber lights strung lazily behind the bar and the colored glow from an old neon beer sign buzzing softly in the corner. A band is setting up near the tiny stage in the back while people crowd around sticky tables, laughing too loudly over the music humming through the speakers.
His hand settles lightly against the small of your back, warmth through your shirt as he leans closer so you can hear him over the noise. “You okay, sweetheart?”
You glance up at him and smile. “Yeah. It’s just different than I expected.”
Eddie grins. “What, you thought it’d be glamorous?”
“A little.”
“Aw, honey.” He nudges you gently toward the bar. “This place barely passes health inspection.”
You laugh softly under your breath, and Eddie’s expression immediately softens at the sound like it always does now. There’s still something almost disbelieving in the way he looks at you tonight, like he can’t quite process that you came here with him willingly. That you’re sitting beside him at the Hideout, of all places.
The bartender greets Eddie immediately as soon as you slide onto the stools. “Munson.”
“Hey, Frank.”
Then Frank notices you beside him, one brow lifting slowly.
Eddie catches it instantly. “Don’t start.”
Frank smirks knowingly before wiping down the counter. “Wouldn’t dream of it. What can I get you two?”
Eddie glances sideways at you thoughtfully for a second, tapping his rings lightly against the bartop. “Lemme get a beer…”
Then his eyes flick back toward you again, something amused flickering there.
“And a Dirty Shirley for her.”
You blink. “How did you know that’s what I’d like?”
Eddie shrugs casually, though the corner of his mouth twitches upward. “You just seem like a Dirty Shirley kinda girl.”
The answer makes you laugh softly. And for some reason, Eddie looks absurdly pleased with himself over that. When the drinks arrive a minute later, you eye yours curiously before taking a cautious sip through the straw.
Immediately, your face brightens. “Oh, this is good.”
Eddie snorts into his beer. “Yeah, because it’s basically candy.”
You narrow your eyes playfully. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“Nah.” His gaze drifts slowly over your face again, softer now. “Kinda fits you, actually.”
Heat creeps up your neck at the way he says it. You glance down shyly at your drink while Eddie leans one elbow onto the bar beside you, watching you with open fondness now that nobody from school is around to see it.
“You nervous?” he asks after a moment.
“A little.”
“About bein’ here?”
You shrug slightly. “I guess.”
Eddie hums quietly, eyes flicking around the crowded bar before settling back on you. “Nobody’s gonna bother you while you’re with me.”
The words shouldn’t affect you as much as they do. Maybe it’s the confidence in his voice. Maybe it’s the fact that he says it so naturally, like protecting you is already instinct.
Or maybe it’s just Eddie.
“Good,” you say softly before taking another sip.
Eddie goes suspiciously quiet beside you, and you glance over. “What?”
His eyes drag slowly from your lips back up to your face.
“Nothin’, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “You just look real pretty sittin’ here.”
The music hums warmly through your chest now instead of pounding against it, and the second Dirty Shirley Eddie absolutely did not need to buy you has left your cheeks pleasantly warm. You’re leaning closer to him without thinking anymore, your knee pressed between his, where he sits angled toward you at the bar like the rest of the room barely exists.
Eddie’s halfway through telling you some ridiculous story about Gareth nearly setting a school amplifier on fire when you start laughing hard enough to grab onto his arm.
And that completely derails him.
He loses his train of thought instantly, eyes dropping to your hand wrapped around his forearm before slowly flicking back up toward your face. You’re still smiling at him, all sweet and tipsy, entirely unaware of the effect you have on him.
“Why’d you stop talking?” you ask.
Eddie blinks once. “You’re pretty distracting, sweetheart.”
Your face warms immediately.
“There she is,” he murmurs fondly into his beer.
Eventually, the bar starts getting louder as more people crowd in, conversations overlapping with the music until Eddie notices you beginning to glance around, slightly overwhelmed.
His hand settles instinctively against your knee beneath the bar. “You wanna get outta here?”
You look back at him immediately. “Yeah.”
Eddie studies your face carefully for a second before asking softer, “Wanna come back to my place?”
And maybe it should feel more scandalous than it does. Instead, all you feel is warm trust settling low in your chest when you nod. “Okay.”
The drive to the trailer park is quiet in the nicest way.
One of Eddie’s tapes plays softly through the van speakers while warm night air drifts through the cracked windows. Your head rests lazily against the seat as streetlights pass over Eddie’s face every few seconds, catching the silver of his rings against the steering wheel.
He keeps glancing at you, not subtly either. Every time you catch him, he smiles crookedly to himself before looking back at the road.
By the time he parks outside the trailer, you’re pleasantly floaty enough that you don’t even think twice before following him up the steps. The trailer is dim and familiar from all the times you’ve picked Dustin up after Hellfire. Eddie immediately tosses his keys onto the counter before turning toward you.
“You want somethin’ to drink?”
You shake your head slightly before your eyes catch the cigarette pack sticking halfway out of his jacket pocket.
“…Can I try another one?”
Eddie actually laughs softly under his breath. “You are trouble.”
You smile innocently. “You said that already.”
“Yeah, well.” His eyes drag slowly over your face again. “Still true.”
This time, when he pulls a cigarette loose and lights it, you step closer before he even asks. Eddie notices immediately, something dark and pleased flickering briefly across his expression before he tamps it down.
“C’mere then, sweetheart.”
The pet name lands warm in your stomach now.
You lean in slightly while Eddie lifts the cigarette toward your mouth again, two fingers resting carefully beneath your chin to angle your face upward. The touch alone feels unfairly intimate, especially when his eyes stay fixed on your lips the entire time.
“That’s it,” he murmurs softly as you inhale carefully.
This time, you barely cough, and Eddie’s brows lift immediately. “Well, look at that.”
You laugh lightly through the smoke, a little proud of yourself despite how ridiculous that probably is.
Meanwhile, Eddie looks devastatingly fond. “That’s my girl,” he says quietly.
Your face flushes even more now, like that’s even possible.
“You like it when I say stuff like that, huh?” he asks gently.
You glance down shyly. “Maybe.”
His grin turns downright dangerous. “Jesus Christ.”
Then, before you can recover from that, Eddie disappears briefly toward his bedroom area. You hear drawers opening for a second before he returns holding something glass and obnoxiously large in one hand.
You blink. “What’s that?”
“A bong.”
Your expression must give you away because Eddie immediately laughs. “Relax, sweetheart. It’s just weed.”
“I know what weed is.”
“Mhm.” He drops onto the couch cushions beside you, smirking slightly. “And yet you looked at it like a church girl.”
You nudge his shoulder lightly while he chuckles to himself, already packing it with practiced familiarity. Then he glances sideways at you.
“You wanna try?” There’s no pressure in his voice, just some boyish curiosity.
You hesitate briefly before nodding. “Okay.”
Eddie’s expression softens instantly into something almost unbearably affectionate. “Attagirl.”
Heat floods your face again.
A few minutes later, you’re sitting tucked against his side while he guides you through it patiently, one hand steady against your waist while the other helps position your fingers correctly.
“Slow,” he murmurs. “Yeah, just like that.”
You follow his instructions carefully, trying not to focus too hard on the fact that his mouth is barely inches from yours right now. The hit burns less than the cigarette but still catches in your throat enough to make you cough lightly against his shoulder afterward.
Eddie laughs warmly, rubbing your back. “That wasn’t too bad!”
“You make everything sound embarrassing.”
“That’s because everything you do is cute.”
Your face immediately buries against his shoulder while he laughs harder, wrapping an arm around you automatically like he can’t help himself anymore.
By the time the second hit settles in properly, you are absolutely gone.
You’re not panicking or dizzy or anything nightmare-inducing. Everything just suddenly feels unbelievably funny and soft all at once, like the entire trailer has been wrapped in warm cotton. The music playing quietly from Eddie’s radio sounds deeper somehow, and you cannot stop giggling every time he looks at you.
Which he keeps doing, constantly.
“You good there, sweetheart?” he asks from beside you, trying very hard not to laugh himself.
You stare at him for a second too long before nodding very seriously. “Your eyelashes are really pretty.”
That immediately breaks him. Eddie doubles over laughing, one hand covering his mouth while the other stays loosely around your waist to keep you upright, where you’re practically folded into his side on the couch.
“Oh my god,” he wheezes. “You’re high as a kite.”
You gasp softly like he’s offended you. “No, I’m not.”
“You just complimented my eyelashes like you discovered religion.”
“They are pretty.”
That only makes him laugh harder.
You narrow your eyes at him for approximately two seconds before dissolving into giggles, too, burying your face against his shoulder. Eddie wraps both arms around you automatically, then, still shaking slightly with laughter, he presses a kiss into your hair.
“Godt,” he murmurs fondly. “You’re adorable.”
You hum happily against him, completely content tucked into his chest while his rings drag lazily along your back.
A few minutes later, you start rambling, not about anything important either. Just whatever pops into your head.
“You know what’s weird?” you mumble suddenly.
“What’s weird?”
“The moon.”
Eddie snorts softly. “The moon.”
“Yeah. It just follows you around all the time. That’s weird behavior.”
“Sweetheart, I don’t think the moon has behavior.”
“It does.”
“Mhm.”
You tilt your head up to look at him very seriously. “You smell good.”
Eddie visibly short-circuits for a second. “…Thanks.”
“And your hair is soft.”
“You touched my hair for like three seconds.”
“I know,” you sigh dreamily. “It was nice.”
That’s apparently the final straw. Eddie drops his forehead briefly against the top of your head with a groan. “Baby, you gotta stop sayin’ things like that before I lose my damn mind.”
You just smile at him sweetly, which does not help. Eventually, after you nearly fall asleep sitting upright against him, Eddie gently decides you need to move to the bed before your neck ends up permanently bent at a horrifying angle.
“C’mon, pretty girl.”
You blink sleepily up at him. “Hm?”
“Bedtime.”
The second he slides an arm beneath your knees and lifts you into his arms, you immediately wrap yourself around him with a soft little laugh.
Eddie steadies you against his chest easily, though his expression goes dangerously fond all over again when you instinctively nuzzle closer against his neck.
“You’re comfy.”
“Yeah?”
“Mhm. Like a heating pad.”
Eddie nearly walks directly into the wall laughing.
The mattress dips softly beneath you a moment later as he sets you down carefully onto his bed. You immediately starfishing across it in a way that makes him snort affectionately while crouching beside you.
“You wanna sleep in jeans, sweetheart?”
You make a face. “No.”
“Okay.” His voice stays gentle. “Can I help you change then?”
You nod immediately. That feeling hits Eddie square in the chest every single time.
So he moves slowly. Helping you swap your jeans for a pair of old sweatpants and one of his oversized shirts while you continue mumbling nonsense the entire time.
“Attractive people should legally have warning labels,” you inform him seriously while he helps guide your arm through the sleeve.
“Oh yeah?”
“Mhm. It’s stressful.”
Eddie laughs softly under his breath. “Poor thing.”
“I’m serious.” You squint at him sleepily. “You’re very handsome. It’s distracting.”
He actually stops moving for a second. “Good lord,” he mutters weakly.
“What?”
“Nothin’, baby.”
By the time you’re finally settled beneath the blankets, your eyes are barely staying open anymore. Eddie starts to pull away toward the edge of the bed before soft fingers catch loosely around his wrist.
“Stay.”
Eddie looks down at you for a long second before his entire expression melts. “Yeah, sweetheart,” he says softly, climbing in beside you. “I’m stayin’.”
By Monday morning, half of Hawkins High has already noticed the jacket.
Not because it’s particularly flashy. Eddie’s leather jacket has always looked a little worn around the sleeves, a little too big on you, where it hangs past your fingertips. But everyone knows who it belongs to. Hellfire patches and metal pins tend to stand out in a school full of pastel sweaters and varsity jackets.
You don’t even think much of it at first while standing at your locker between classes, adjusting your books against your hip as Robin practically materializes beside you with the energy of someone spotting celebrity gossip in real time.
“Oh, my god.”
You blink. “What?”
Robin gestures wildly toward your body. “The jacket.”
Your eyes drop downward like you somehow forgot you were wearing it. “Oh.”
“Oh?” Robin repeats incredulously. “That’s Eddie’s jacket.”
You shrug a little, though warmth immediately creeps into your cheeks anyway. “I got cold Saturday.”
“And he let you keep it?”
The way she says it makes you pause. “…Yeah?”
Robin stares at you for a very long moment before muttering, “That man is so far gone.”
You laugh softly under your breath, trying and failing to suppress your smile while Robin watches the entire thing happen in real time.
“Oh, you like him bad too,” she realizes immediately.
“I do not like him bad.”
“Honey, you are literally wearing his jacket. Is that not the universal equivalent of a declaration?”
Before you can answer, someone whistles from farther down the hallway.
You glance up instinctively just in time to see Eddie leaning beside the cafeteria doors, already beaming, looking at you. More specifically, at you in the jacket. The slow grin that spreads across his face afterward is downright unfair.
Robin physically grabs your arm. “Oh, he’s gonna be unbearable now.”
And she’s right. Because Eddie spends the rest of the day looking at you like he won something.
Every time you pass each other in the hallway, his eyes immediately flick toward the oversized sleeves swallowing your hands before dragging slowly back toward your face with a deeply pleased expression.
At lunch, he hooks two fingers through one of the jacket loops while passing behind your chair and murmurs a quiet, “Looks better on you anyway, sweetheart,” directly into your ear.
You nearly forget how to speak afterward. By the end of the school day, your cheeks hurt from smiling.
Outside, the parking lot buzzes with engines starting and people spilling toward their cars in noisy groups while you make your way down the front steps. And there he is. Leaning against the side of his van with a cigarette resting between his lips, like he’s been waiting a while. The second he notices you walking toward him, his entire face softens.
“Hey, sweetheart.”
“Hi.”
Eddie takes another drag from the cigarette while you stop between his knees, where he’s perched against the van door. “You survive another thrilling academic day?” he asks dryly.
“Barely.”
“Yeah? Tragic.”
You laugh quietly while his eyes drift over your face again, lingering there warm and heavy enough to make your stomach flutter. Then your gaze drops toward the cigarette between his fingers.
A slow smile pulls at his mouth. “What?”
You hesitate briefly before leaning in slightly. “Can I?”
This time, he doesn’t even tease you about it.
He simply lifts the cigarette toward your mouth automatically, eyes fixed steadily on your lips while you lean closer to take a slow drag. The smoke burns less now, familiar enough that you barely cough at all when you exhale.
Eddie watches the entire thing like he’s completely mesmerized.
“Atta’ girl,” he says quietly. The praise settles warm all through you.
Maybe it’s the nicotine. Or the way he’s looking at you. Or the fact that you spent the entire day missing him in a way that feels embarrassing to admit.
But suddenly you just want to kiss him, so you do. You lean forward softly, cigarette smoke still lingering faintly between you as your lips press against his. Eddie makes the quietest sound into your mouth.
His free hand immediately slides against your waist, pulling you closer between his knees while he kisses you back, slower this time, like he’s savoring it. Around you, the parking lot continues moving in noisy blurs, but Eddie kisses you like there’s nobody else there at all.
When you finally pull back slightly, he’s staring at you with completely blown pupils.
For a second, he just looks at you. Then he lets out a quiet laugh under his breath, thumb brushing absentmindedly along your waist where it’s still holding you close.
“Who are you?” he murmurs, almost disbelieving.
Your face warms instantly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Eddie grins slowly, eyes flicking toward the cigarette still dangling between his fingers before dragging back to your mouth.
“Couple weeks ago you were apologizing for saying hell in front of teachers,” he says softly. “Now you’re stealin’ drags from my cigarettes and kissing me in the school parking lot.”
Heat blooms all through your chest at the way he says it. Not mocking, something more towards pleased. Like he’s enjoying watching this softer, bolder side of you emerge.
You smile shyly despite yourself. “Maybe you’re a bad influence.”
Eddie actually groans at that, dropping his forehead briefly against your shoulder.
“Sweetheart,” he mutters, “you cannot say things like that to me.”
“Why not?” you ask innocently.
Eddie’s thumb hooks beneath your chin immediately.
“Because,” he says quietly, voice rough around the edges now, “you say it like you have no idea what you’re doing to me.”
The warmth in your stomach deepens at that familiar tone, at the way he’s looking at you like he’s equal parts obsessed and completely doomed by it. And maybe you do understand a little more now.
Maybe that’s why your smile turns just slightly shy and knowing when you whisper, “Maybe I do.”
Eddie stares at you for half a second like you just physically struck him. Then he laughs softly under his breath, completely gone for you.
“There she is,” he murmurs.
He doesn’t reply with words after that, just hooks his fingers more firmly beneath your chin and drags your mouth back to his.
Eddie kisses like he’s addicted to it already, cigarette smoke still clinging faintly to him while his hand slides warm against your jaw. The parking lot noise fades somewhere far into the background as he tilts his head and kisses you again and again like he can’t help himself anymore.
And when you melt closer against him with a tiny contented sigh, Eddie smiles directly into your mouth, completely, and hopelessly ruined.
badda bing badda boom.
anyyywayyyyy, hope you all enjoyed.... i have a surprise coming at 11pm >:)
Summary: After you and Ryland almost die, you can't seem to sleep in separate beds anymore. For safety purposes. Have to make sure the other is breathing, definitely.
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Ryland and you have been… close… since getting the Taumoeba, mostly because you both would’ve died if not for Rocky, somewhat because the lack of human touch is starting to make you both antsy.
To say you both have been clingy would be an understatement. You’re always closer than necessary to each other in the lab, filming your videos for Earth as pairs now, never apart for long before one of you searches for the other.
You’ve also begun sharing a bed.
The “logic” you both have used to explain this is you’re now following Rocky’s logic of resting together to monitor each other's health. You have to make sure the other is breathing, obviously. No other reasons. No other way to do that in a ship made with humanities best technology.
So it’s not too strange at this point when you wake up to Ryland’s arms tight around you. You usually wake up first anyways, waking him up after a little to make sure you guys have an early start.
This all has been platonic, obviously. Well, as platonic as cuddling can be with a very attractive man can be. What? You have eyes. To say Ryland Grace isn’t easy on them would be a lie. And sure, you’ve thought about him a bit, it would be disingenuous to say otherwise, but you don’t have a crush.
Okay, so that’s a lie too. You have a crush on Ryland Grace, how could you not? He’s funny, charming, and witty, and he’s all of these things without even trying. It’s almost frustrating how he pulls you into his orbit without trying, his gravitational pull so strong you can’t help but become another moon revolving around him.
So maybe, maybe, you’re a little more than happy at your current situation with him.
There’s no one awake to chastise you for staying in his arms a little bit longer then needed.
There is, however, a bit of an interruption to your fantasizing when you hear Ryland mumble a bit next to you.
He’s saying your name.
That’s… new. Ryland has never really been a sleep talker, but it’s not strange. He could be dreaming of anything, he’s probably thinking of working.
That thought is quickly cut off when you hear a moan come out of his mouth.
…Not work.
You can’t gauge if you’re happy or mortified in this situation yet. Your mind switches between “Ryland is dreaming about having sex with you!” and “Ryland is having a wet dream while you’re stuck in bed with him…” quickly, thinking of every possible outcome that usually ends with Ryland being horrified and never talking with you again.
Which you, obviously, don’t want.
So, you try and get out of Ryland’s arms without him waking up to save the embarrassment and over explanation he is sure to go into.
You don’t get that chance, because as soon as you try and sit up, he pulls you even closer, and you can suddenly feel something hard against your leg.
Okay.
Cool.
Maybe you can still get out of this. You push away from him, and just when you’re almost free-
He opens his eyes. Shit.
Ryland sighs as he wakes, eyes blearily blinking to focus on the situation. It’s only when he sees you sat straight and realizes the situation in his boxers does his face turn a flush red.
“Oh my gosh- I- I didn’t- I swear I wasn’t- I didn’t mean to-” he’s sitting up now, staring at you with panicked eyes and messed up hair. If you didn’t feel so badly for him in this situation, you’d call him cute.
You hold up a hand before his spiral can fully launch.
“Ryland. Stop talking.”
That works better than it should. He actually freezes mid-ramble, mouth still open like his brain just hit a system crash.
You exhale slowly through your nose, trying very hard not to look anywhere that would make this worse. “It’s okay.”
“It is not okay,” he says immediately, then winces like he wishes he could swallow the sentence back whole. “I mean… I just… I was sleeping”
“I noticed.”
“And dreaming.”
“Yes.”
“And humans sometimes-”
“I am begging you to stop talking.”
That finally does it. His mouth snaps shut. A second passes. Then another. The silence stretches, thick and radioactive with mutual embarrassment.
Ryland looks anywhere except at you, which unfortunately means he’s staring at the wall like it personally betrayed him.
“I should… probably move,” he says carefully.
“That would help.”
He nods way too fast, scooting back like the mattress has suddenly become a live wire. The loss of contact makes the whole situation feel even more absurdly loud, like the ship itself is now aware of what just happened and is judging both of you.
You sit there for a second longer than necessary, because your brain hasn’t fully caught up with your body’s decision to survive this.
Then you clear your throat. “For the record.”
Ryland freezes. “Oh no.”
“It’s not a big deal.”
“You’re insane.”
“It’s literally just biology doing what biology does.”
He groans, collapsing backward onto his pillow again. “I hate biology.”
“You are a molecular biologist.”
“Molecules don’t have wet dreams of their crewmates.”
That one shuts you up, and you look down at your hands. You can feel the heat crawl up your body as your face grows hot. What do you say to that? You’re talking before you can think.
“I don’t mind.”
That makes Ryland pause, but not for long, “You don’t have to lie, I know it’s-”
“I’m not lying. I don’t mind. I mean, I really don’t mind. Like the opposite of minding? That’s me.”
Ryland stares at you for a beat, one or two, before tilting his head, “You mean…”
“Yes- obviously. Sorry, I just- I’ve been thinking about you for so long and then this happens and you keep wanting to apologize but all I can think of is how I wish it was real and not a dream and if this is freaking you out or you’re actually not into me like that please feel free to sh-”
He’s kissing you. Ryland Grace is kissing you. His hands are on your cheeks and he’s kissing you and it feels so right and you’re starting to think you didn’t know what right meant before this moment.
It ends all too soon and you frown at that, which Ryland takes as you not liking it, “Oh my Gosh- I am sorry- I thought-”
You kiss him, pushing him back onto your shared bunk and leaning on top of him. His hands find your hips, and he positions you on top of him with a disgusting amount of ease.
The first thing you notice is how warm he is, in his disposition and temperature. The warmth of his hands at your hips feel like flames, as does the heat that radiates from him under you, giving you goose bumps all over. Looking at him now, with his dilated pupils and kiss marks still visible on his mouth, has you feeling as if you’ve plugged yourself into an exposed electrical socket. And that’s even before he’s even touched you. A little too much thinking about that wet dream that he had probably hasn’t helped matters either.
The desire to witness him in this state, flushed and flustered, leaves no room for thought whatsoever. Already your hands are on his shirt, pulling at it as you plant your lips on his neck. Ryland groans, making your task easier.
"You-", he breathes heavily, "You're behaving as if you've wanted to do this for quite a while now."
"I have," you reply without a thought.
After that, Ryland breathes shakily and there is silence for a bit. You assume he is going to kiss you but instead he squeezes tighter at your hips. "How long?"
And now, you find yourself having to get up to meet his gaze. His eyes seem glazed and his hair is disheveled. He looks… well, hot. Really fucking hot.
"Awhile"
And still, it won't work on him. He pushes back with the words, "Be more specific." You are surprised by how passionate his tone makes you feel at that moment.
Reaching out to rub circles with your hands around the region above his sweatpants, you say, "Not specific enough for you, huh, Grace?"
He almost lets himself moan in pleasure due to how you're touching him but he's determined to let you speak before doing so, because right now, his attention is entirely focused on you. "No, definitely not enough," he says with a low voice. "Tell me a number."
Your fingers move a little bit further down, getting nearer to the waistline. Ryland lets out a soft noise that might as well be a plea to touch him. This causes you to bite your lip.
“A number can mean anything,” you finally say, your fingers brushing against the waistline of the pants. "Do we mean weeks, months, years-"
"Years?" asks Ryland sharply, his voice rising. "Did you ever like me when we were still on Earth?"
Oops, that cats out of the bag. You take off your shirt, hopefully to distract him. Ryland breathes out softly as you strip, his gaze flickering from your skin to yours again.
"Years?" he asks once more, holding onto your hips a little tighter. "You really have- you’ve liked me for that long?"
Damn it all, no luck there. You sigh and lean down to kiss him, saying, "Yeah. I have…"
He makes a soft sound as he returns the kiss, his tongue entering your mouth. His hunger is insatiable, desperate; he’s waited as long as you have for this. Grinding your hips against his, Ryland breaks the kiss, his head throwing back in a moan.
“God dang it. That’s not fair.”
"Why not?”
“Because,” he groans in your ear as you grind against him again, his hands on your hips, pulling you closer than before. “I’m having a very important conversation here, and you’re distracting me.”
“Aren’t we having sex?”
That shuts him up. Ryland stares at you for a moment, his mouth hanging open, mind obviously unable to process this is actually happening.
"Right," he says after a second. "Right, of course."
Shaking his head, Ryland grabs hold of your hips and flips you over. Now you're on your back, looking up at a very eager Ryland Grace between your legs.
Ryland looks at you with this intense stare. His hair is all messy and his face is flushed. Wow.
"Can I touch you?" he asks after a while, his hand sliding up your leg and giving it a squeeze.
You nod, your eyes get wide. You bite your lip. His hand moves up higher to the edge of your shorts. He looks at you like he is checking if you are okay with this. You lift your hips so he can pull your shorts down.
Ryland takes your shorts off, throwing them away while still looking at you. For a moment you just stare at each other, then he leans over. "You are beautiful, " he says.
You take a breath, your hands grab his shoulders and you feel his mouth on your skin. He kisses you again a little higher this time. Then starts kissing down your leg. It is like he is trying to drive you crazy, taking his time making you feel all these things.
You start breathing fast, your fingers are in his hair and your hips are moving off the bed. You want him to go faster. Rylands fingers are on your leg touching the skin.
"Ryland... Please baby..." you say.
He looks at your face, sees how much you want him and loses control.
He moves your leg and gets between your legs. He touches your skin and looks at you like he wants you so bad.
"I have wanted this for a long time " he says. "You have no idea how."
"I think I have an idea, " you say. "Please, pretty boy?"
He puts his head in your leg and hides his face for a second. It is really cute.
"Stop... it makes me sound like a teenager."
"You’re really pretty, can’t I say that?”
You can hear him making this noise against your skin, his fingers holding you tighter. He looks up, his eyes are full of need and desire.
"I want to make you feel good, " he says, touching your hip. "It is not fair when you say things like that."
"You want to make me feel good, Ry?."
The way you say his name makes him shiver. He really wants to do this.
"Yes I want to " he says, kissing your leg moving up higher. "I will do anything you want."
When Ryland gets to where he wants to be he stops, looks up at you to make sure you are okay. You nod and he starts kissing you. His mouth is hot and it feels amazing As he touches you you feel your body getting hotter, your heart beating faster. You start to lose control.
Then he starts to lick. Suck with his tongue, swirling and it feels so sweet, like nothing you have ever felt before. Your brain stops working. All you can think about is how good it feels. You are completely at Ryland’s mercy. Ryland is focused like he is on a mission to make you feel as good as possible. His hands hold your legs and his mouth keeps going. He stops and looks at you to see how much you are enjoying this and it seems to turn him on even more.
Ryland is just so extremely gentle. He wants to make sure that it's good for you, he doesn't have much experience with what he's doing. Every time he does something, you can feel how nervous he is. You can feel it from how he touches you that he wants to make sure you feel good.
You look down into his eyes and he catches you looking at him. His eyes seem so soft and sweet and he looks at you in a way that makes your heart rate speed up. It dawns on you that you never want to miss out on a moment like this again. You reach out to touch his face and pull him close to kiss him.
"I want you, Ry... is that okay?"
"Uh-huh.." is the only thing he manages to whisper back with a nod. His voice sounds a little deeper than usual, as if he was trying his best to hide the anxiety in his chest. But he's still hugging you tight to himself. He moves, making sure you’re comfortably sitting on his lap, kissing you on the face.
Ryland finds himself whining softly when he feels your body on top of him, he's trying really hard to keep himself together and take everything slow. He cups your hips, his hold tightening as you kiss him all over the face.
"You're such a good boy... you're doing much better than what I imagined, Ry...
Ryland lets out a low whimper as you talk to him, his head falling back as you start placing kisses on his neck. "You imagined this?"
"Of course I did... you're so handsome, how couldn't I?"
Ryland moans as your words and your touch make him shiver. "Dang it, you need to stop talking," he mutters, his hands on your waist. "You're making it very hard to focus."
"Mmm, you feel very hard."
Ryland groans as you say that, his hips moving up to meet yours instinctively. "Oh man- you better stop talking for real now. You're going to be the death of me."
"Need you... that okay?"
Ryland swallows, nodding slightly. Even though he’s still holding back, his body seems to be pushing against yours, trying to get as close as possible to you. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine- I’m fine- I’m- I’m getting… I feel like- you’re driving me crazy.”
You kiss him, your lips touching every inch of him as you descend into him.
As you meld your bodies together, Ryland chokes on the breath inside of him. He holds you around the waist, gripping so tightly, as if afraid that you would vanish right out of his arms when he lets you go.
He restrains himself, stopping himself from giving into the emotions welling up within him. He holds himself back as best as he can, wanting you so badly that it hurts- but god, he could barely breathe because he wanted to take things slowly and make this perfect for you. He is drowning, and you are the only thing holding him back from being completely swallowed by the dark abyss. He shivers under your touch, whimpering softly and mumbling praise.
"God, you are beautiful. Look at yourself, you are so beautiful. Please, you need to know that-"
Even though he’s this mess, he wants to remind you how gorgeous you look to him. He struggles to keep himself under control, but it is quite obvious what he wants - you can tell from the way he is shaking and all of the heat that comes off of him. You can feel his heavy breathing and the sweat beading on his forehead. You have never seen Ryland like this before, but it makes you want him even more.
"Please-" he murmurs, "God, please- I need you, I need you to-" He doesn’t get to finish, because you are leaning in and pushing yourself against him, and he emits another desperate groan. There is no use in trying to hide how badly he wants this. It’s impossible. Every part of him is trembling, and he is shaking underneath you like he will fall apart at any moment.
He grips your hips so tight that you’re afraid there will be bruises later, but you don’t care. You move closer, leaning down and brushing your mouth against his neck. Ryland makes another soft noise, completely giving into you.
You nod, and his hand moves lower down where your clit lies. Then, suddenly, the coil snaps.
There is nothing left for Ryland to hold back now that he has allowed himself to surrender to the passion that burns within both of you. He trembles and shivers as he breathes in hard gasps. There is no single thought remaining in his mind, all he can think of is how badly he needs you.
Over and over again, he calls out your name as he gazes up into your face. Nothing could ever be more beautiful than you above him.
"You're so good, you're so good, you're so good," he's whispering under his breath as he touches you everywhere. "You're so beautiful, so gorgeous, so unbelievably beautiful... I can't believe any of this is real. Am I dreaming still...?"
You two are finally able to cool down, taking drawn-out breaths, while exhaustion overtakes you both.
You're lying on top of him, resting on his chest. Ryland pulls you close to him, embracing you. His heart is still pounding away, but he's slowing down. His hands run softly up and down your back, trying to soothe himself and you after everything that's just happened. It's silent for a little while as you lie there.
After a few moments, Ryland sighs happily and plants a kiss on the top of your head. "Mmm… You alright?" he asks you quietly, running his fingertips lazily up and down your back.
You nod against him, getting more comfortable against his chest. You shut your eyes, letting yourself enjoy the sound of his heartbeat and his breathing evening out.
Ryland holds you, his fingers making lazy circles across your spine. You can feel how reluctant he is about letting you go. You wonder if he’s afraid that all of this is going to vanish in an instant, only to have him wake up and discover that everything that just happened was nothing but a beautiful dream. Minutes pass before he finally opens his mouth, his voice hushed and just above a whisper.
He sighs, taking another breath and seeming to hesitate for a few seconds before starting. "Was..." he pauses once more, his fingers stalling momentarily before returning to their slow circling pattern. "Was this- I mean- this wasn’t just-" More hesitation before he finally blurts, “This wasn’t just a one-time thing, was it? I hope... I hope it isn’t a one-time thing.”
You sit up, gently frowning before giving him a kiss. "Not just one-time. Like I said, I want you… if you'll have me."
Ryland lets out a shaky sigh before cupping your face, staring at you with those soft eyes. You can see how he calms down once you say what he wants to hear.
"Of course I'll have you… of course. I've actually wanted this for years now. I would literally be an idiot to not have you now."
You chuckle at that, letting yourself lean into his touch. "You’re such a nerd… You know that?"
He gives you an amused scoff, but you could tell that he's joking. "Excuse me? I am not a nerd, I'm a-" you raise your eyebrows playfully at him, stopping him. "Alright, alright. I am a nerd. I admit it. But you are too."
“Guess we make quite the pair.”
You chuckle again, leading to both of you lying in bed and falling asleep after some time.
And for the first time since you both got hurt, you sleep peacefully.
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A/N: i might rewrite this later idk just wanted to finish. no ideas otherwise rn might take a break unless i get requests maybe so we'll see. enjoy!!!
your soft hand glides over his pecs, sifting through tufts of his chest hair. his nipples are still hard. you nuzzle your face into the crook of his neck, sighing at the warmth. his fingers stroke your hair, and you feel a gentle kiss on your forehead. his face is practically shining - radiant with the afterglow of sex. a lazy arm is sprawled across your belly; effortlessly enclosing your frame. he hums a tune under his breath, filling the empty silence. the unspoken words hang in the air, a comfortable affirmation which is so clearly known to the both of you that it doesn't need to be said. but as you stare at the soft crinkle of his eyes, you catch a hint of doubt in the blur of affection and you find yourself wishing he'd just say it.
Ryland couldn’t stop staring at your lipstick, you decide to have some fun.
Ryland Grace x fem!reader
Warnings: slightly suggestive, lots of kissing, so much kissing, Ryland Grace loveesssss youuuuu, kiss marks left all over, not proofread (English is not my first language I apologize)
note: Heavily inspired by This post ! Saw it and wanted to make a longer Drabble about it. I know he doesn’t have a tie in the gif but just imagine, we’re all good at that aren’t we?
Sweet sweet Ryland wasn’t sure what to do with himself. You were still getting ready, and in his nerves for the middle school award ceremony this evening, he had gotten ready far earlier and quicker than you.
He paced around the living room, reciting his speech by memory at this point, dusting off nonexistent dust from his suit, and pulling the tie slightly tighter on his neck. Today was going to be amazing for his kids, and he couldn’t wait to see them all get awarded for their hard from the semester.
“Ok! Im done” You yell out from the bedroom, your heels in your hand as you grab your purse from the bed. You look in the mirror one last time, fixing a stray hair before quickly rushing out of the room.
You knew how important today was for Ryland and his students, and even it there was still an hour until the ceremony, he wanted to be early. And you obviously weren’t going to make him late.
Something you both bonded over when you started dating was how you both liked to be on time for things. In his own, messy way, he was never late.
He turned around to look at you with a smile, and. Oh my god.
Oh fuck.
You looked stunning. That dress hugged you just the right way, without looking even slightly inappropriate. Your curls fell down just the right way, and that red lipstick stood out and made your lips look extra kissable. He swallowed hard.
They couldn’t be late.
You caught him staring, making you smile, and innocently tilt your head.
“What’s wrong Dr. Grace?” You took a step closer, watching his face slowly turn a crimson red. He was always so easy to fluster.
Your hand delicately wrapped around his tie, nails scrapping the fabric gently, tugging him closer with a short pull. And he obviously followed with no hesitation, hands settling on your hips.
“You look beautiful” Ryland admires, still staring so hard at your lips.
“And we’re going to be late if you keep staring” you smile, kissing his lips. It was a simple peck, but he followed your lips when you pulled away. Wanting more. More that you couldn’t give because-
“We’re gonna be late” you repeated, putting your hands on his cheek to push him away, seeing how your lipstick stuck to his lips in a messy way.
He looked so cute, and obviously you wish you could continue.
“Cmon, 10 minutes? We don’t gotta do anything.” He muttered, giving you those puppy eyes that were so hard to say no to.
You sighed, giving him a smile before kissing his cheek, one. Two. Three pecks. Before slowly going down to his jaw, leaving open mouthed kisses and lipstick marks down his throat.
You kept walking until the back of his knees hit the couch, and you pushed him so he fell with a small oomph. He stared up at you in awe, his glasses sliding down his nose for dramatic flare.
You fix the skirt of your dress enough to be able to sit on his lap, his hand coming to rest on your thigh, drawing circles into the fabric of your skirt. Your lips continued their assault on his neck, hands fiddling with his tie, loosening it enough to unbutton the first 3 buttons of his shirt. You wasted no time in attacking his chest, kissing every inch of bare skin you could reach.
His skin rose and fell with every breath, becoming harder to think straight with every kiss you gave him. You could hear the straggled whimpers and cries that escaped his lips when you left a bruising mark on his collar bone.
His hips rutted up against you, which made you giggle and pull away from his chest, deciding the you should stop now before things escalate. You admire your work, hands coming up to cup his cheeks, his dazed eyes fallen and completely smitten by you.
You pecked his lips slowly, pulling your phone out with one hand to take a picture of your work. And he was too out of it to even complain as you snapped it, taking a mental note to print it out on your Polaroid later.
“Ok big guy, let’s get you cleaned up for the ceremony”
“Nooo im going like this”
Not completely awful for the first thing on this account! Lmk what you think please, have a good night!
summary: ryland grace may be able to carry the weight of the world, but not without breaking somewhere. Luckily, he has someone who knows exactly how to bring him back.
warnings: 18+ smut, oral f receiving, p in v, submissive ryland!!, ryland has a hair pulling kink lowkey, needy! ryland, overworked! ryland, slight angst, soft ending, gentle and emotional smut, pornwith plot
The sound of the clock was impossible to ignore that night.
Now, that’s not to say it was big. Objectively, it was small. An old white thing that had come from Ryland’s first flat, now sitting proudly above the kitchen door. It was cheap plastic and most definitely second-hand, offering a loud click as the seconds crept on. Each landing deliberately as it reminded you what you were trying so hard not to measure.
You checked it again.
22:47.
You exhaled through your nose, lips pressing together as you tried to soothe the ache in your stomach that had been pushing harder and harder as the weeks went on.
The flat was warmer tonight, blame it on the oven being on for too long and the windows not being open enough. The smell of roasted garlic still permeated the air, softened now that dinner was technically over. It now sat on the counter, carefully packed into mismatched Tupperware containers. It had once been plated, earlier, when you thought he’d be home by eight.
You’d even lit a candle. You were optimistic.
The flame had travelled halfway down the wick, the wax pooling unevenly along one side, before you decided to blow it out.
He wasn’t coming back.
You pulled your knees a little closer to your chest, where you sat curled into the corner of the sofa, a blanket half draped over your legs. The TV was on as it flickered a shifting light across the room. Something mindless played on the screen, not that you were actually watching; you zoned out around an hour ago.
You just wanted some noise at this point, or rather, the absence of silence.
There is a brief war in your mind as you debate whether to put the Tupperware away. It was still sitting on the counter. You decide that it is probably for the best to move from your sanctuary on the sofa, stretch your legs and whatnot.
You wander over to the kitchen, socks shuffling across the floor as you reach for the plastic containers to put away.
He may not be here, but there are traces of him everywhere.
It’s what makes you so worried about him.
You turn towards the fridge—it was the first thing anyone noticed when they walked in. Not because it was particularly nice, but because it was covered.
Layered in magnets and paper and colour. Crayon drawings, most of them, curling slightly at the corners where the magnets didn’t quite hold them flat.
Stick figures with wildly disproportionate limbs. Planets coloured in purple and green. A sun with sunglasses. A lopsided rocket labelled—very proudly, in uneven block letters.
MR GRACE’S ROCKET SHIP!!!
You smiled softly.
He’d come home with that one months ago, careful not to let it crease too much on his bike ride home.
“Look at this,” he’d said, laughing. “They think I’m cool enough to go to space.”
You’d laughed then too, teasing him gently, telling him he was cool enough, and he’d ducked his head.
There were more of them now.
More drawings. More little notes. One that just said “Thank you Mr Grace :)” in pencil.
He’d never had the heart to take any of them down.
Your chest tightened.
Because that was him, wasn’t it?
That earnest kind of care. The way he gave himself to things—fully, without hesitation, without holding anything back. Whether it was his students, or a problem he couldn’t quite solve, or you.
Especially you.
Your eyes flicked back to the clock as you put dinner away.
22:52.
You wondered, not for the first time, what he was actually doing.
His most recent job was vague, always described sheepishly. He said there were NDAs involved, said it was "research." Papers were always hidden away where you couldn’t see them, let alone try to understand them.
You trusted him. That was enough for you not to pry. That paired with the way that he’d looked at you—not excited, but lit from within in a way you’d never seen before.
That had been enough.
You didn’t need to know the details to know that something had shifted.
It had started small. A meeting here. A call there. Then longer hours. Then missed dinners. Then the creeping realisation that whatever he’d been pulled into, it wasn’t temporary.
Most nights now, the flat felt too still without him in it.
It wasn’t that you minded. If anything, you were glad he’d found something that lit him up like this. It was the way he gave himself to it, completely and without pause, that worried you. The sense that he was stretching himself thinner and thinner, and that one day there might not be enough left to hold him up.
You lingered for a moment in the kitchen, fingers brushing along the edge of the counter as your eyes drifted once more to the clock.
23:01
Later than you’d promised yourself you’d stay up.
You should go to bed.
He’d understand.
With an exhale, you reached for the switch. The overhead light flickered softly, your hand hovering, as if you were hesitating, as if some part of you was still holding out hope.
The sound of the lock turning cut through the stillness.
You stilled.
Metal against metal. A stubborn click. The push of the door easing open.
Ryland.
You could hear he was trying to keep quiet. His shoes hardly made a sound as he kicked them off, nor did the door as it softly shut, trying not to disturb a space he already thought was asleep.
The flat stayed dim, the kitchen light still on behind you, casting a soft spill into the hallway, catching just the edge of his silhouette.
You could stand here and giggle as he fumbled around, trying to keep silent as he took off his bag and jacket, but the feeling in your chest stopped your thoughts immediately.
Before you could think better of it, you were already moving.
You rounded the corner quickly, too quickly for him to anticipate. He barely had time to look up before you were on him, arms wrapping around him and relief flooding your system.
“Oof—”
He let out a startled sound as you collided with him, hands coming up instinctively to catch you, steady you.
And then, just as quickly, he melted into you.
His arms slipped around you, pulling you in close. His chin dipped toward your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin.
He smelled the same. Coffee, soap, completely familiar and him.
“What are you—” he trailed off, voice lower than it usually was, tiredness hinting at the edges. “Should be in bed by now, sweetheart.”
You pulled back just enough to look at him, not taking his gentle scolding too seriously.
He should take his own damn advice.
You smiled, practically glowing in his embrace and the knowledge that you’d be able to say goodnight to him in person this time.
“I wasn’t tired.”
It wasn’t a lie.
Your eyes lingered on his face, fully taking him in, even if you hadn’t quite clocked everything yet.
“Plus,” you continued, a little quieter. “I sleep better when you’re here.”
He huffed softly, the corner of his mouth lifting just slightly.
“That’s not true,” he said, voice still gentle. “You’re usually still snoring when I leave in the morning.”
You frowned immediately, offended.
“I do not snore.”
He gave you a look.
“Mm,” he hummed. “Okay. Whatever you say.”
You barely had time to argue before he leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. It was unhurried, something you let yourself smile into.
When you pulled back, you tilted your head slightly, still holding onto him.
“I made dinner.”
That got his attention.
He blinked at you, like the words took a second to land, his tired eyes softening just a fraction.
“You did?”
You nodded, a little eager despite yourself.
“Pasta. Your favourite.”
He let out a groan, dropping his head into the crook of your neck, his arms tightening around your waist just slightly.
“You spoil me,” he mumbled.
You shrugged, smiling as your fingers brushed lightly against his back.
“It’s my job.”
He huffed softly against your skin.
“Should be mine.”
“What was that?” you asked, tilting your head just enough to try and catch it.
“Nothing,” he said quickly, lifting his head again.
You studied him for a moment, then stepped back just enough to gesture vaguely toward the kitchen.
“Do you want me to heat it up?”
He hesitated.
You saw it, even before he answered.
“Nah—no, no,” he said, a little too quickly. “You go, get comfy, yeah? I’ve just got… I’ve just got some stuff I need to read. Then I’ll be right with you.”
You stilled.
“You’re still working?”
The words came out soft, but they hit.
He stopped too.
In the brief pause between the two of you, it allowed you to really see him.
Even in the low light, it was all there. The shadows under his eyes were darker than they used to be. The strain on his expression that he was so obviously trying to hide. His glasses had slipped slightly down his nose, unnoticed by him, his hair a little more dishevelled than usual.
He looked exhausted.
“Ry—“ you murmur as your chest tightens, lifting your hands to his face. You drag your thumbs lightly along his jaw as you hold him there. “You can’t work all the time.”
“I know,” he said quietly.
“You need rest.”
“I’m gonna,” he insisted, but there was no real conviction in it.
You searched his face, your mouth turning into a frown.
“But you never get any.”
He hated to admit it, but you had a point.
Damn it.
He exhaled and it was heavy. His gaze dropping to the floor like he disappointed you. He didn’t want to argue, but he also didn’t want to deflect.
Because he knew. He knew you were right.
You brushed his hair back from his forehead gently, fingers slipping through the soft strands, and the effect was immediate.
He couldn’t help himself when it came to you.
His shoulders dropped just slightly, his eyes closing for half a second as he leaned into the touch without thinking, like his body recognised something his mind hadn’t had time to catch up with.
Like he needed it.
You let your fingers linger, nails dragging lightly across his scalp, and he let out a low groan, his grip on your waist tightening instinctively.
Your heart gave a small, startled thud.
When was the last time—
You didn’t even finish the thought.
Too long. Far too long.
Your fingers curled slightly in his hair, just enough to guide his head back, and he followed easily, eyes opening again, a little unfocused now, a little softer.
You had an idea.
You looked up at him, your expression gentler now, something more deliberate settling in your gaze.
“Ry,” you said quietly, almost coaxing. “Are you sure I can’t help you relax?”
It took him no time to understand your insinuation.
He looked at you like the question physically pained him.
Torn.
He dragged a hand briefly over his face, exhaling under his breath.
“Baby, I—” he started, cutting himself off quickly, like he’d caught the words just in time. He shook his head slightly, a faint, tired smile pulling at his mouth.
“Okay,” he said, softer now. “Okay. Yeah.”
His hands found your waist again.
“We can do whatever you want.”
Something bright, almost giddy, flickered in your chest. Because finally, you could take care of him.
Your fingers slid down from his hair, tracing the line of his jaw one last time before you caught his hand in yours. His palm was warm, a little clammy from the long day, but the second your skin met his he laced your fingers together.
You gave a gentle tug and he followed, his steps heavy and dragging behind you, socks scuffing softly against the floorboards. He moved like a man who’d forgotten how to want anything except the next thing you offered him, like a tired puppy trailing after the only light left in the flat.
You led him down the short hallway. The bedroom door was already ajar; you pushed it open with your hip, and the street lamps outside spilt in through the half-drawn blinds, painting everything in soft gold and cool silver.
The way he liked you best.
The glow caught on the rumpled sheets you’d left this morning, on the curve of his shoulder as he stepped in behind you, on the faint sheen of exhaustion that still clung to his face.
He stopped just inside the doorway, blue eyes locked on you. Even half-dead on his feet he looked hungry—starved, really—desperate with his pupils blow wide and his breath hitching every time you moved.
He perked up quickly.
Good.
Time to ease his thoughts away from work and solely on you.
You could still feel it rolling off him in waves: the weeks of late nights, the missed dinners, the way his body had forgotten what it felt like to be touched with anything but clinical efficiency.
You stepped closer, letting your hip cock to one side, head tilting as you looked up at him through your lashes. The movement made the hem of his old t-shirt ride up your thighs, and his gaze dropped there for half a second before snapping back to your face like he’d been caught.
“You gonna let me take care of you, Ry?” you asked, voice low and sweet, the way you knew made his knees weak.
He swallowed hard, throat working.
“You always take care of me,” he murmured, the words rough.
“Yeah…” You smiled, teasing. “But I have a feeling you’re really gonna like this one.”
He opened his mouth—probably to protest, to say he should be the one looking after you, to offer some tired half-joke—but you rose up on your toes and kissed him before the words could escape. He melted instantly. The sound he made was broken, almost embarrassed, like he hadn’t meant to let it out.
His free hand came up to cradle the back of your head, fingers threading into your hair, needing something solid to hold onto while the rest of him dissolved.
You kept kissing him as your hands found the top button of his cardigan—soft green wool, the one he’d worn the day he first told you about the “research job” that was eating him alive.
One button, then another. You worked slowly, letting your knuckles brush the warm skin of his chest each time. He didn’t move to help. He just stood there, eyes half-lidded and gentle. When the cardigan finally slid down his arms and pooled on the floor, he shivered, even though the room wasn’t cold.
Next came the shirt underneath. You tugged it free from his jeans, palms skimming up the flat plane of his stomach, feeling the way his muscles jumped and twitched under your touch.
He was so pliant, so perfectly willing—arms lifting when you guided them, head ducking so you could pull the fabric over it.
The shirt joined the cardigan and he stood there bare-chested, breathing a little faster now, chest already tight from the weight of your stare.
Your fingers dropped to the buckle of his belt. Metal clicked. You looked up at him again, searching his face.
“Is this alright?”
His hands covered yours immediately, warm and steady despite the tremor in his voice.
“Baby,” he said, almost laughing but too wrecked for it, “you can have me whenever you want. You know that.”
The words came out hoarse and you couldn’t help but think about every night he’d come home after midnight, every morning he’d slipped out before you woke.
Your chest squeezed—but you shoved the ache aside.
Not tonight.
Tonight he was here, and he was yours.
You popped the button, dragged the zip down, and pushed his jeans and boxers off his hips in one. He stepped out of them clumsily, kicking them aside, and he was naked in front of you—cock already half-hard and curving up toward his stomach, flushed dark at the tip and beading at the slit.
He looked so vulnerable like this, eyes soft and a little glassy, waiting for whatever you wanted to do to him.
Before you could sink to your knees or touch him the way you were aching to, he reached for you with that same tired, adoring smile.
“Your turn?”
You giggled—couldn’t help it—and let him pull you in. His hands were eager, sliding under the hem of the oversized t-shirt you’d stolen from his drawer. He peeled it off you slowly, reverent.
God, you missed him.
When your breasts were bare he exhaled shakily, thumbs brushing the undersides like he couldn’t quite believe he was allowed. The shirt hit the floor and then his fingers hooked into the waistband of your sleep shorts, dragging them down your thighs in one go.
You stepped out and suddenly you were both exposed, skin glowing in the light, the air between you thick with weeks of pent-up need.
He didn’t waste time. He hauled you against him, mouth crashing into yours in a kiss that felt deeper than the last, like the exhaustion was finally cracking open.
One of his hands splayed across your lower back, the other slid between your legs without hesitation. Two fingers stroked through your folds, finding you already slick and aching, and he groaned into your mouth when he felt it.
“Baby…” he rasped against your lips, voice wrecked. “Seems like I’ve been neglecting you, huh?”
His fingers circled your clit once, twice, slow and perfect, and you whimpered, hips jerking forward.
You grabbed a fistful of his hair and softly tugged—just hard enough to make him gasp—then shoved at his chest playfully.
“Tonight I’m taking care of you, Dr Grace.”
Dr Grace.
The title landed like a live wire. You knew exactly what it did to him; he could see it in the way you said it.
His eyes fluttered, a broken little sound punched out of his chest, and he let you push him backwards until the backs of his knees hit the mattress. Let you move him where you wanted him.
He dropped down willingly, sprawled out on his back, cock now fully hard and leaking against his stomach. He looked pathetic in the best way—chest heaving, cheeks flushed, arms already reaching for you like he couldn’t stand another second without your weight on him.
You crawled over him, knees bracketing his ribs, ready to sink down and take him inside you the way you’d been dreaming about for weeks. But his hands caught your hips, stopping you. His blue eyes were hazy, pupils blown, yet somehow still so gentle.
“Baby… can you go a little higher?”
You blinked down at him, confused, thighs already trembling with want.
“Aren’t you tired?” The words came out soft, almost worried, and the sound of it made his expression melt even further. “Tonight I was gonna be good to you.”
Not that you were complaining.
He shook his head, thumbs stroking soothing circles over your hipbones.
“I don’t think I’ll last five seconds if we do that,” he admitted, bashful and honest and so fucking needy it made your stomach flip. “It’s been… Gosh, it’s been so long. Let me do my job first, yeah? Then you can have your way, okay, sweetheart?”
Your cheeks burned, but you nodded, heart hammering. He guided you higher, hands firm until your knees settled on either side of his head, and you were hovering over his face.
The light painted his features in silver and shadow—his tired eyes still locked on yours, lips parted, breath already fanning hot against your soaked cunt.
Fuck, he was stunning.
You lowered yourself slowly, and the first drag of his tongue had your head falling back with a moan.
He was tired, yes, but he knew you—knew exactly how to flatten his tongue and lick a long, slow stripe from your entrance to your clit, how to hum in satisfaction when your taste flooded his mouth.
How could he forget you?
His hands gripped your thighs, fingers digging in hard enough to leave marks you’d treasure tomorrow, anchoring you to him like he never wanted you to leave.
He licked and sucked with lazy, devastating precision, built from months of learning every hitch of your breath, every roll of your hips.
When you started to rock against him he groaned, the vibration shooting straight to your core, and the sound was so desperate—so pathetically grateful—that it made you clench around nothing.
“That’s it,” he mumbled against your pussy, voice muffled and wet, “ride my face, baby. Use me. Let go for me—”
Please.
His fingers dug harder into the soft flesh of your thighs, pulling you down with a desperate strength that belied how exhausted he looked.
You could feel the tremble in your legs already starting, the way your muscles quivered around his head as he devoured you like a man who’d been starving for months—and maybe he had.
Ryland Grace, brilliant and overworked and so fucking touch-starved that he couldn’t get enough, kept dragging you back and forth over his tongue with low, needy sounds vibrating straight into your core.
He was rock-hard beneath you, cock straining and leaking against his stomach, but he didn’t even seem to notice or care. All that mattered was you—your taste, your weight, the way you ground down on his face like it was the only thing keeping him awake.
He cursed every single late night he had, every single hour overtime.
How on earth could he put work before this pure heaven?
You reached down blindly, fingers tangling in his messy hair, tugging hard enough to make him groan loud and broken against your soaked pussy. The sound was pathetic in the most beautiful way. He’d let you use him until there was nothing left if that’s what you wanted.
And you did.
You rode his face harder, hips rolling in messy circles, chasing that building heat while he licked and sucked and hummed like he was trying to memorise every single reaction you gave him.
He felt it when you started to tip over the edge—your thighs clamping tighter around his ears, your breath hitching into these sharp little gasps. His blue eyes flicked up to yours, glassy and adoring even through the fogged lenses of his glasses, and he doubled down, tongue flicking relentlessly over your clit until you tugged on his hair again and came with a broken cry that echoed off the bedroom walls.
It was overwhelming, the way he didn’t stop—licking you through every pulse and shiver, dragging you back down when your hips tried to pull away.
Oh no, you don't.
He cleaned you up with reverent strokes like he couldn’t bear to let a single drop go to waste.
You were shaking, quivering above him, vision blurry with the aftershocks, and only when you were completely spent and whimpering did he finally loosen his grip on your thighs. His hands slid up your sides instead, soothing, like he was afraid he’d break you even though he was the one falling apart underneath you.
You lifted off him on unsteady knees, sliding down until you could look at his face properly. His glasses were completely fogged up, cheeks flushed crimson, lips swollen and glistening with your arousal. He blinked up at you, dazed and blissed-out, chest heaving like he’d just run a marathon.
“Was that… good?” he asked, voice hoarse and shy; he still needed the reassurance even after you’d just ridden his face into oblivion.
Tell him he was still good.
You let out a shaky sigh, brushing a thumb over his wet bottom lip.
“You know it was, Ry.”
A sleepy smile spread across his face—pure, unguarded bliss.
You shuffled lower, knees bracketing his hips now, and looked down at him with a teasing little tilt of your head.
Finally, it was his turn.
His cock was throbbing between you, flushed and leaking steadily against his stomach, and he was staring at you like you hung the moon.
“You gonna let me ride you now, Dr Grace?” you asked, voice dripping with sweet mockery.
He groaned, head dropping back against the mattress with a soft thud.
Again with the titles?
“You’re gonna kill me, I swear,” he mumbled, but his hands were already sliding up your thighs.
You chuckled, leaning down to nip at his jaw.
“Good. Maybe that way you’d finally get some rest.”
He huffed a breathless laugh that turned into another groan when you reached between you and wrapped your fingers around his cock. He was so hard it was almost painful to the touch and he jolted up with a sharp wince, hips bucking involuntarily.
“I—sorry, baby—”
It’s been so long.
His cheeks burned even darker, eyes squeezing shut in embarrassment.
You looked at him. His flushed face still shiny with your slick, hair sticking up in every direction from your tugging, that tired but desperate expression that made him look so beautifully pathetic. He was the most gorgeous thing you’d ever seen, soft submission and needy love, and your chest ached with how much you’d missed this version of him.
“You’re beautiful,” you murmured, meaning it with every part of you.
He whined, hips twitching again.
“Stop teasing, please. I need you.”
You chuckled softly, finally taking pity on him. You grabbed his shaft properly, angling it so the thick length slid easily between your slick folds. The motion had his tip catching perfectly against your clit before popping free, and you both moaned at the wet glide.
Fuck, it's been too long.
He sighed against your mouth, which had fallen open in a silent ‘o’, rolling his hips up in search of more friction, chasing the heat of you like he couldn’t help it.
“Patience,” you began, but the last of the word was stolen by a gasp when you ground down to meet his next thrust. The blunt tip of him prodded at your entrance, gliding up again with just the right pressure to make sparks shoot up your spine.
You both moaned louder this time, the sound tangled together in the quiet room.
His arms circled the curve of your waist, pulling you closer, dragging you over the full length of him again. It made you shudder hard in his grasp, nails digging into his shoulders for balance.
He caught right where you needed him most, your walls fluttering greedily around his tip, trying to suck him in. A low growl rumbled from deep in his chest when he tried to push a little more. But it was your hips that rolled this time, taking just enough for him to finally slide all the way in with a slow, delicious stretch that had you both gasping.
“Fuck,” you whined, feeling so full for the first time in way too long. Your walls clung to him tightly, trying to accommodate his size after all these weeks apart. You sat up straighter with a low huff through your nose, letting your nails drag down the centre of his chest. He shuddered hard under you, eyes rolling back for a second. “Fuck—missed you so much—”
“Language, baby,” he managed to choke out, but the words dissolved into a broken moan as you rolled your hips again, taking him even deeper. “Taking it so well—just like that—”
His praise hit you like a spark. You clenched around him involuntarily, and he twitched hard inside you, a fresh spurt of pre-cum leaking out. His big hands found the tops of your thighs, pads of his fingers leaving trails of fire as they slid up to grip your hips.
You started riding him properly then—slow at first, savouring every inch as you lifted and sank back down, the sounds of your bodies meeting filling the room. Ryland turned into an absolute babbling mess beneath you, desperate, eyes glassy as he stared up at you like you were everything.
“Missed you so much,” he gasped, hips jerking up to meet yours. “Missed this—missed baby, I—feels so good, so—”
You let out a sharp whine when he hit that perfect spot inside you, and his eyes lit up with that familiar hunger.
“Right there? That’s it? Yeah, baby?” he panted, begging you to tell him he was doing it good. “Look so beautiful, you—“
You moaned, head tipping back as you kept moving, chasing that building pleasure while he fell apart under you. His hands roamed everywhere—your hips, your waist, up to cup your breasts like he couldn’t decide where he needed to touch you most.
“Please, sweetheart, please,” he begged suddenly, voice wrecked and so fucking pathetic it made you throb around him. “Look at me—need to see you. It’s been so long, I need your eyes on me—”
It was hard to open your eyes—the slow, dragging drag of his cock against your slick walls was almost too much, the feeling of being so perfectly connected to him after all this time. But you did, locking gazes with him as you rode him harder.
He was trembling now, fingers digging bruises into your hips, breath coming in short, desperate pants.
“Not gonna last—I’m not gonna last much longer—”
“Neither am I,” you breathed out, leaning down to kiss him messy and deep, tasting yourself on his tongue again. “Cum for me, Ry. Let go.”
That was all it took.
He did—hard. His whole body seized up, back arching off the bed as he came with a broken, guttural moan that sounded like it had been ripped out of his soul. He swore he saw stars, eyes squeezing shut, mouth open in silent ecstasy while he kept thrusting up into you through it, needy even in the middle of his orgasm.
You followed right after, clenching around him as the wave crashed over you, moaning his name like a prayer while your thighs shook and your vision whited out.
You both came down slowly, chests heaving, skin slick with sweat. His arms circled you immediately, pulling you down against his chest. You stayed there for a long moment, just breathing each other in, hearts hammering in sync.
For a while, neither of you moved. You lay half-draped over him, cheek pressed to his chest, listening to the way his heartbeat slowly began to steady beneath your ear. It was still a little fast, still a little uneven, but it was him again.
Not halfway lost in whatever equations or impossible problems had been pulling him away from you.
His hand rested at the small of your back, fingers tracing against your skin like he didn’t quite know what to do with all this quiet. Like he was relearning it.
You felt him shift slightly beneath you, reaching again for the tissues on the bedside table.
“I’ve gotcha,” he murmured, softer this time, more awake.
He's always got you.
You huffed a small breath against his chest, but you didn’t move away. Let him fuss. Let him take care of you in the way he always did. He needed to feel close as much as you did.
He worked slowly, methodically, brows pulling together just slightly in concentration as he cleaned you up, determined to do it properly. You watched him through half-lidded eyes, the light catching on the slope of his nose, the faint flush still high on his cheeks, the way his glasses had slid crooked again without him noticing.
You reached up, nudging them back into place with a small smile.
“Occupational hazard,” you murmured.
He blinked down at you, a little dazed still.
Tease.
He finished cleaning you up, then his hand came back to you, settling at your hip, thumb brushing. You traced your fingers lightly along his chest, following the faint rise and fall of his breathing.
“You know,” you said after a moment, voice softer now, “you should take nights off like this more often.”
He huffed a breath, eyes flicking down to you, something a little brighter sparking there now.
“Oh, trust me,” he said, a hint of humour creeping back in, “I will be adding that to my schedule immediately. Very high priority.”
You stilled slightly.
The smile didn’t quite leave your face, but it shifted.
“Ry…”
He noticed.
Your fingers paused against his chest, your gaze lifting to meet his properly now.
Here we go.
“I know you can’t tell me what you’re doing,” you said gently, not accusing, not pushing. “And I’m not asking you to.”
He nodded slightly, something flickering in his expression—gratitude, maybe. Relief.
“But,” you continued, quieter now, more earnest, “I am serious.”
Your thumb brushed lightly along his collarbone, grounding yourself as much as him.
“You need to take time like this. Not just for you.”
A small breath.
“For me.”
That stuck. You could feel it.
You saw it in the way his expression shifted again, the humour softening. He looked at you, not just the comfort of you, but the person who had been waiting. Who had been worrying.
Who loved him.
His hand moved from your hip to your cheek.
“I know,” he said quietly.
He exhaled slowly, gaze dropping for just a second before coming back to you.
“I think I… yeah,” he admitted, softer still. “I think I’ve been… a little—”
“Obsessive?” you offered gently.
He huffed.
“That’s a polite way of putting it.”
You smiled faintly.
“It’s one of the things I love about you.”
“Yeah,” he said, a little sheepish. “It’s also one of the things that turns me into a complete disaster when I don’t manage it properly.”
Your fingers threaded lightly through his hair again, softer this time.
“You’re not a disaster.”
“Mm,” he hummed. “Debatable.”
You nudged his shoulder.
“Ry.”
He smiled at that.
“I hear you,” he said, more seriously now. “Okay? I do. I… I can take a night. Or—” he paused, recalculating, already trying to be better, “a couple. I can make that happen.”
You searched his face for a second, like you were checking if he meant it.
“Okay,” you said softly.
His thumb brushed your cheek again, lingering there.
“Okay,” he echoed.
There was a quiet between you. That was until you saw the cogs in his head turning once again.
“…we should probably shower.”
You couldn’t help but laugh.
Typical Ryland.
“Probably.”
He glanced down at himself, like he was doing a very quick, very scientific assessment.
“Yeah,” he added. “Definitely.”
You pushed yourself up slightly, offering him your hand this time. He took it without hesitation. You tugged him gently toward the bathroom, and he followed, steps still a little heavy but no longer dragging.
The light flicked on with a click, filling the small space with warm yellow, as steam already began to gather as you reached for the shower.
He leaned against the counter, watching you, something gentle in his expression.
“What?” you asked, glancing back at him.
He shook his head slightly, a small smile pulling at his mouth.
“Nothing.”
He gave a small shrug as his cheeks heated again.
“I just… missed this.”
Your chest tightened, but in the best way.
“Yeah,” you said, stepping back toward him, brushing your hand against his as the water started to run. “Me too.”
He squeezed your fingers before stepping in with you, pulling you under the warm spray.
For the first time in weeks, it felt like he was finally back with you. Where he belonged.
a/n: first ever post on this blog wooo!!! not new to writing, just new to ryland and couldn't help myself.
just testing the waters to see if there is anyone interested in more of ryland, lowkey want to do a series on him for the movie/book (it will be angsty though but with a happy ending) if people were into that?
anyway let me know what you all think and if you want more of ryland x reader!!
summary you and ryland got hit by some kind of dust
word count 8K
content 18+. smut. sex pollen. fuck or die. masturbation (m). penis in vagina sex. riding. humour (i tried). crack. ryland's glasses stay ON during sex.
a/n officially the longest fucking thing i have ever written. i'm not truly satisfied with this but it's whatever. i hope u guys enjoy it. english is not my first language
masterlist | read on ao3
you and ryland have been staring at yet another mysterious gift sent by rocky like it was a trunk shot from pulp fiction.
you know, the one where— okay so nevermind. that's not important.
what's important was what rocky had sent, which was another cylinder.
you glanced at ryland. ryland glanced at you. then you both glanced at the cylinder.
it sat in the center of the lab table, perfectly still, perfectly silent, and deeply, profoundly suspicious.
“so,” you said, arms crossed. “before you do anything impulsive and deeply stupid, let’s review our options.”
ryland didn’t even look up. “option one: we open it and potentially discover advanced human knowledge. option two: we don’t open it and i slowly lose my mind wondering what’s inside.”
“option three,” you added, “we don’t open it and you will forever be curious about the content but hey, at least you'd still be alive!”
he glanced up at you with a grin that immediately told you he was not going to pick option three.
“ryland last time you said ‘this’ll probably be fine,’ we almost suffocated.”
“counterpoint,” he said, straightening and placing a hand on the latch, “almost.”
you sighed.
“i just don’t like it,” you said for what was probably the fifth time.
ryland made a thoughtful humming sound that meant the exact opposite.
“you don’t like anything that comes from rocky.”
you crossed your arms without taking your eyes off the object. “that is objectively untrue. i like the parts that don’t explode, corrode, or attempt to rewrite the laws of physics.”
“so.... none of it?”
“exactly.”
pause.
just when ryland reached for the cylinder, you spoke out again.
“and just for the record....” you said, voice flat, “i am deeply against whatever you’re about to do.”
“come on. what’s the worst that could happen?”
you dragged a hand down your face, already bracing for disaster. “okay, i need you to understand that that phrase is cursed. like, historically cursed. civilizations have fallen after someone said that.”
he ignored you.
of course he ignored you.
the seal popped before you could argue more. the cylinder hissed open with a soft, pressurized sound.
for a second, nothing happened.
you leaned forward slightly, squinting, peering into the opening, expecting.... something. a device. a sample. anything.
“okay.... maybe it’s empty—”
poof!
a burst of fine gold dust shot out of the container in slow motion, catching the light as it drifted upward and outward, directly into both your faces before either of you could react.
“oh— come on—!” you coughed immediately, stumbling back and waving your hands uselessly through the air. “why is it always airborne—”
“i didn’t—” ryland coughed too, turning his head and blinking rapidly. “i didn’t know it was going to do that!”
“it’s a mysterious alien container, of course it was going to do that!”
the dust settled almost as quickly as it appeared, vanishing into nothing. no residue, no smell, no visible trace that anything had even happened.
you both stood there, breathing hard, staring at each other.
“....okay,” you said slowly. “status report.”
he blinked a few more times, then patted his arms, his torso, like he might find damage. “uhhh.... lungs: functioning. skin: not melting. vision: normal.”
“define normal.”
“i can see you glaring at me, so, yeah. normal.”
you exhaled. “great. fantastic. we inhaled space dust and survived. love that for us.”
“see?” he said, already relaxing. “nothing to worry about.”
you pointed at him sharply. “you do not get to say that. you lost that privilege the moment you opened it.”
“fair.”
then there was a beat.
“so.... that’s it?” you asked.
he peered into the cylinder, turning it upside down. only the residue of the dust fell, nothing else was inside.
“that’s it.” he confirmed.
“okay,” you said finally, though your voice carried a thin edge of disbelief. “either that was completely harmless, or we just inhaled something that’s going to kill us slowly and mysteriously.”
“statistically,” ryland said, already turning back toward the console, “it’s probably the second one.”
“great,” you muttered.
“yep.” he clicked his tongue and made a double finger gun. “nailed it.”
only for a while.
only for a while, it actually seemed like he was right.
you two ran scans, double-checked the air composition, monitored your vitals like you were waiting for them to spike into something dramatic and undeniable. everything came back normal. no toxins, no foreign pathogens, no radiation spikes, nothing that explained the golden dust or what it was supposed to do.
it should have been reassuring.
it wasn’t.
because about an hour in, you noticed something off.
not dramatic. not alarming. but subtle enough.
you shifted in your seat, tugging slightly at the collar of your yellow jumpsuit. the fabric suddenly felt too close, too warm against your skin.
“hey,” you said, not looking up from your screen. you were in your station in the lab, your back facing ryland. “did the temperature go up?”
ryland glanced at the panel beside him. “nope. holding steady.”
“huh.” you leaned back, frowning. “feels warmer.”
“maybe you’re just stressed.”
you snorted. “yeah, because inhaling unknown alien particles was such a relaxing experience.”
you tried to ignore it.
it didn’t work.
because by the second hour, it got worse. worse enough that it distracted you from doing your job.
you were restless now, shifting every few minutes, hyper-aware of your own body in a way that was getting increasingly distracting.
“okay, nope. something’s happening.” you said, standing up. you zipped down your suit. it pooled around your waist and left you in nothing but a dark green tank top you wore underneath. now you looked like a formula 1 driver walking around the garage in the middle of a malaysian heat.
except you were pretty sure that the heat in malaysia was tolerable enough and the drivers were used to it.
this, whatever this was however, was far from it.
“i'm sure it's nothing—” ryland finally turned but then paused.
“what?” you asked as you tied your hair into a ponytail.
he was sitting still. too still. his posture was stiff, shoulders slightly tense, like he was holding himself in place. his jaw tightened and his eyes that were currently fixated on you slightly dilated.
“....ryland?”
he flinched, snapping back to the present. he fixed his glasses while his eyes withdrew, focusing on somewhere else but you.
“yeah?” his voice came out a little too quick. a little too tight.
you narrowed your eyes. “you okay?”
“fine. totally fine.”
“you don’t look fine.”
he let out a short laugh that didn’t sound entirely natural. “well, looks can be deceiving.”
“you’re flushed.”
“it’s warm,” he said immediately. “i’m…. internally warm.”
“....that’s not a thing.”
“it is now.”
you crossed your arms, studying him.
“you’re acting weird.”
ryland scratched the back of his neck. you did not miss the way he licked his lips. and there was a faint flush creeping across his face, coloring his cheeks and the tips of his ears, subtle but unmistakable once you saw it.
“nothing. nothing. um—”
you frowned. “are you okay?”
“yes, yes,” he cleared his throat while still staring at a very specific spot on the floor, like he was avoiding your eyes.
“okay....” you turned, walking back to your station, trying to not let his sudden weird behaviour get to you. it's ryland. he was always a bit odd, even back on earth when you first met him on the ship.
by hour three, thankfully you finished your work quickly because the heat was no longer tolerable.
“fuck....” you muttered under your breath, standing up and started pacing around.
ryland was still busy with his duct-taped-computers, probably working on the algorithm to translate rocky's melodic language.
he stopped typing on the keyboard and grabbed his notebook, writing something there now.
your paces halted. and unfortunately your brain decided that right now was the perfect time to let your eyes wander to his arms out of all places.
you didn’t know why but it just happened.
you didn't get to stop yourself. you brain drifted, catching on the absolute ridiculous size of his biceps. since when did he work out? the thought of middle school science teacher ryland grace going to the gym and working out during the weekends got more ridiculous the more you think of it.
you should have stopped. should have sat back down and worked or went to take a nap or— oh my god his veins—
you flinched.
jesus, what the fuck?
since when the fuck did you notice that?
nope. absolutely not.
you squeezed your eyes shut briefly, exhaling through your nose like that might reset your brain.
it didn't.
you sighed, audible enough just to your ears. your gaze flicked, just for a second, and then immediately snapped back to somewhere else.
that was a mistake.
because now you knew, and knowing made it harder not to look again.
your brain, completely unhelpful, decided to supply additional commentary. since when does he have arms like that? it asked, again, like this was new information, like you hadn’t been working side by side with him for months.
you squeezed your eyes shut briefly, exhaling through your nose. get it together. this was ryland. your crew mate. your friend. the only other human being alive within literal light-years.
and yet—
“oh, for fuck's sake,” you cursed under your breath.
“what?” ryland immediately turned, ears sharp enough to hear you. he looked concerned for a bit.
“nothing,” you said quickly. too quickly.
he adjusted his glasses. “that did not sound like nothing.”
“it’s nothing.”
ryland tilted his head. a hint of amusement decorating his face.
“you were staring at me,” he pointed out.
you jerked your gaze away. “i was not.”
“you absolutely were.”
“i was not,” you insisted sharper, which would have been more convincing if you hadn’t immediately glanced back at him again.
he let out a short, disbelieving laugh. “wow. okay. so it’s not just me. good to know.”
you pressed a hand to your forehead, giving up on your pretenses. “no, it is definitely not just you.”
you paced again a few more steps, trying to shake it off, but it didn’t help. if anything, it made you even more hyperaware of everything. your breathing, the air, him.
and by the fourth hour, denial was no longer an option.
“okay, that's it.” you said, pacing now because sitting still felt impossible, “we need to figure out whatever the hell this is.”
“yep,” ryland said, standing up simultaneously.
“define what you’re feeling,” you asked.
he hesitated. “uh, okay. so, scientifically?”
“obviously.”
“i feel.... distracted,” he started, frowning slightly as he tried to articulate it. “like my brain keeps derailing. and also—” he stopped.
he looked at you and held his gaze for a second too long.
“ryland.”
“....also very aware of you,” he finished.
pause.
“define 'aware'. like when you were staring at me?”
“i wasn't—” he stopped, then frowned, like he was trying to catch his own thoughts mid-escape. “okay, maybe i was.”
you crossed your arms. “why?”
“i don’t know,” he said immediately, which somehow felt worse than any actual answer. “i just— looked up and— there you were.”
“i’m always here!”
“yes,” he said, a little too quickly. “i am aware of that. conceptually. but right now it’s.... more noticeable.”
you stared at him.
“more noticeable.” you repeated.
he rubbed the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable. “that sounded weird.”
“it sounded very weird.”
“i meant it in a normal, non-weird way!”
“there is no version of that sentence that is normal, ryland!”
“you were staring at me too!” he reminded.
you opened your mouth, then shut it again, abandoning whatever argument you were about to attempt. he got you there.
then you sighed. you realized that you both seem to be doing that a lot today.
“you know what? nevermind. just— are there any other symptoms? like what, hormones? perception? impulse control?”
“all of the above, probably.”
you exhaled slowly, forcing yourself to think. maybe it was—
“the dust,” you said suddenly, stopping in your tracks.
he went still. “what?”
you pointed at the cylinder. “it has to be that.”
“yeah,” he said, nodding slowly like he just pieced all the puzzles together now. “yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, that makes sense. mysterious alien substance, unknown effects, sudden onset of—” he gestured vaguely between you “—this.”
you raised an eyebrow. “'this?'”
“i don’t have a better word!”
“well, find one!”
“i’m a scientist, not emily brontë!”
you dragged both hands down your face. “oh my god.”
“okay,” you continued. “let's not panic. let us all calm down. so, we agreed we got exposed to an unknown particulate substance.”
“yep.”
“we’re experiencing.... thermal dysregulation.”
“yep.”
“and—” you hesitated, “—behavioral anomalies.”
he made a small, distressed noise. “that is a very scientific way to say that i cannot stop staring at your lips.”
you frowned. “you were staring at my lips?”
“and you were staring at my arms! we can do this all night!” he said defensively.
“did you just quote the sequels— nevermind. not important.”
you pressed your lips together. which, unfortunately, made his eyes drop there again.
you both noticed, and you both looked away at the same time.
“okay,” he said, pacing once, like movement might fix this. “okay, okay, okay, okay, we can figure this out. we always figure things out.”
“right,” you said, latching onto that. “we analyze.”
“we observe.”
“we hypothesize.”
“we do not panic.”
“we are absolutely not panicking.”
you were both very clearly panicking.
“let’s list everything again.” he said, forcing steadiness into his voice. “all symptoms. no judgment.”
“no judgment,” you agreed.
“elevated body temperature.” he started.
“check.”
“heightened sensory awareness.”
“check.”
“uh....” he hesitated, visibly struggling. “increased.... focus on.... specific.... features?”
you folded your arms tighter. “check.”
“compulsive attention,” he added weakly.
“check.”
he swallowed. “and a— a noticeable shift in, uh—”
“attraction?” you said bluntly.
he closed his eyes. “yeah. that.”
the word hung there, heavy but accurate.
you both went very still. because once it was said like that, clean, clinical, undeniable, something in your brain clicked into place.
not just the symptoms.
the pattern.
your mind started pulling threads together, faster now. the dust. the delivery method. the lack of any visible organism. the immediate onset being minimal, then escalating over time.
you frowned, thinking harder.
“okay,” you said slowly. “if this were any known terrestrial system, particulate exposure with delayed onset behavioral changes would suggest—”
“toxins,” he said automatically.
“but there’s no impairment,” you countered.
“cognitive function is intact. motor function is intact. we’re not disoriented.”
“right,” he said, catching up. “so not a neurotoxin.”
“and not a pathogen,” you added. “no immune response. no inflammation.”
“so it’s not attacking us.”
“it’s affecting us.”
you both went quiet again, thinking.
he ran a hand through his hair, pacing again, faster this time. “okay, so— delivery system: aerosolized particulate. effect: behavioral modification. targeted toward—”
he stopped.
you watched it happen. the exact moment the realization hit him.
his entire posture went rigid.
“....no,” he said.
your stomach dropped. “what?” you asked, even though something in you already knew but refused to acknowledge it.
he looked at you. then away. then back again, like he wished reality would swap out for a better option.
“no, no, no, no, no, no,” he muttered, shaking his head. “that’s— that’s not—”
“ryland,” you said, sharper now. “what.”
he gestured helplessly toward the empty cylinder. “there were no organisms. no plant matter. nothing visible. which means whatever this is, it doesn’t rely on traditional biological structures.”
“okay....?”
“which means,” he continued, words picking up speed like he couldn’t stop them now, “it could be a synthetic analog. or an alien biochemical system that doesn’t follow earth-based taxonomy. something that mimics a known function without the same physical form—”
“ryland.”
he stopped and looked at you.
you held his gaze.
“say it.”
he hesitated. like if he didn’t say it, it wouldn’t be real.
“....on earth,” he started, carefully, “there are airborne particulates that influence behavior in very specific ways.”
your chest tightened.
“they’re typically produced by plants,” he went on. “released into the air. inhaled. they trigger physiological responses that.... alter attraction. increase reproductive drive. reduce inhibition—”
your breath caught.
he exhaled, defeated.
“....pollen,” he finished.
silence.
thick.
absolute.
you stared at him.
he stared back.
“that’s not possible,” you said, even as your brain was already connecting it. "that's not fucking possible. what the fu—”
“i know,” he said quickly. “i know. there were no plants. there’s no visible biological structure. it doesn’t make sense.”
“so it’s not pollen.”
“it’s not plant pollen,” he corrected weakly.
you both paused.
“but it’s doing the same thing,” you said.
“yeah.”
another silence. longer this time.
he let out a hollow laugh, dragging a hand down his face. “that’s— wow. okay. that’s just— fantastic. amazing. incredible. we got hit with alien.... pseudo-pollen that—”
he stopped himself.
you finished it for him. “that makes people.... like this.”
he nodded, looking like he wanted to walk directly into space.
you swallowed. your skin still felt too warm. thoughts still kept drifting back to him.
to his hands. arms. the way he was looking at you right now.
you dropped your hands. wanna know the worst part of this? it's that now that you understood it, it didn’t make it stop. it just made it clearer.
“we’re in trouble,” you said quietly.
he nodded, equally quiet.
“yeah,” he said. “we really are.”
“and rocky just gave it to us with no warning?”
“to be fair,” ryland said, “he might not have known humans would react like this.”
you stopped pacing. “react like what, exactly?”
“like this,” he said weakly. “he probably thinks this is how humans reproduce. like, 'here, have some breeding dust, make more crew for the mission!'” ryland continued.
“oh, jesus.”
another pause.
longer this time.
he shifted his weight. “okay. solution-oriented thinking. we just.... wait it out.”
“wait it out,” you repeated.
“yep. it’s a chemical thing, right? it’ll metabolize, wear off, we go back to normal, and we never speak of this again.”
“not even a little bit.” you agreed quickly.
“not even in a funny anecdote way.”
“especially not in a funny anecdote way.”
he removed his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose with his eyes shut tight while his other hand was gripping the edge of his desk for dear life. firm, almost rigid, like it was the only thing anchoring him in place. “good plan. great plan. love that plan.”
you stopped pacing and looked at him properly.
really looked.
the flush hadn’t faded, it had deepened. his breathing was just slightly off, not enough to be obvious unless you were paying attention, but you were paying attention now. and the way he was holding himself. tense, contained, like he was actively stopping himself from—
“ryland,” you said slowly.
“yeah.” he did not look at you.
“why are you holding onto the table like it’s about to float away?”
he let out a short, strained laugh.
“because if i don’t,” he said, voice tight in a way that made something in your chest twist, “i might do something incredibly stupid.”
your stomach dropped. “define 'stupid.'”
his eyes flicked up to yours, and whatever you saw there made your breath catch.
“i think,” he said quietly, “you already know.”
pause.
you stole a look at him. ryland had gone very still, hands braced on the edge of the console, head bowed like he was trying to think his way out of this. he looked just as wrecked as you are. tense, flushed, jaw tight like he was grinding through it.
the lab suddenly felt too small, like the walls had inched closer, like the air had thickened into something you had to push through just to breathe. you were still standing too close to each other. close enough to feel the heat rolling off him. close enough that every tiny shift felt amplified. and neither of you seemed able to take that one simple step back.
you both pretended to think. which would’ve been easier if your thoughts weren’t constantly derailing.
“okay,” ryland said finally, too quickly, like he’d been holding the word in his mouth for a while. he wasn’t looking at you. he hadn’t been looking at you for a solid minute now, which somehow made it worse. “solution. we need a solution.”
you nodded, even though he couldn’t see it. “yeah. yeah, obviously.”
he paced once, twice, hands flexing at his sides like he didn’t know what to do with them. “we don’t know the duration of the effect. could be hours, could be longer.”
“right,” you said, your voice coming out tighter than you meant.
“it might not get worse,” he said quickly.
you both paused.
“it’s definitely getting worse,” you said.
“yeah,” he admitted. “yeah, that’s fair.”
another stretch of silence followed, thick and charged and deeply unhelpful.
another beat. he stopped mid-pace, suddenly locking eyes on your lips again as you bit the lower one in concentration. a visible shiver ran through him.
you, meanwhile, were transfixed by the way his t-shirt stretched across his chest when he breathed. arms. shoulders. that stupid little strand of hair falling over his forehead.
it was ridiculous. you were both adults. professionals. stuck on a ship light-years from home with an entire species depending on you not screwing this up.
and yet.
both of you looked away at the same time.
he continued pacing, then he straightened slightly, like he’d latched onto something solid. “okay. i’ve got it.”
you perked up. “yeah?”
“isolation.”
silence.
“what?” your voice came out small.
“we isolate,” he repeated, more firmly now, like saying it again would make it more reasonable. “separate areas of the ship. minimal contact. we wait for the effects to wear off.”
you stared at him. “you’re kidding.”
“i’m not kidding.”
“ryland, that’s not a solution. t-that’s— what if it gets worse? what if it doesn’t wear off?”
“then we reassess,” he said, easy. “but right now, the safest option is distance.”
you laughed, sharp and disbelieving. “distance? on this ship? we share literally everything. systems, controls, workload—”
“yeah,” he said, gaining momentum, talking faster now. “we separate. different sections of the ship. minimal contact. we only communicate over comms when absolutely necessary. reduce exposure to.... stimuli.”
“stimuli,” you repeated flatly.
he made a small, helpless gesture. “i’m trying to keep this clinical.”
you stared at him. really stared this time.
“ryland,” you said slowly, “we are on a single-crew mission with two people.”
“yes.”
“yao and ilyukhina are—”
“i’m aware.” his voice was tighter this time, jaw clenched.
“we barely manage everything together on a good day.”
“we’ll adjust.”
“adjust?” you let out a short, disbelieving breath, shaking your head. “we’re already compromised. you said it yourself. attention issues, cognitive interference. you think splitting up is going to make that better?”
his jaw tightened. “it removes the trigger.”
“it removes the only person who can help when something goes wrong,” you shot back. “we don’t have backup. we don’t have a third crew member to pick up the slack. if something breaks, and something will break, we need both of us functional.”
“we are functional,” he insisted, but it came out strained, like he didn’t fully believe it.
you took a step closer without thinking.
his entire body reacted.
it was subtle. so subtle you almost missed it. but it was there: the way his shoulders went rigid, the way his breath hitched just slightly, the way his hands curled like he was holding himself in place.
that alone made your point for you.
you gestured between the two of you. “this is not functional.”
he didn’t answer.
you softened your voice, just a little. “we don’t know how long this is going to last.”
“it could wear off in a few hours,” he said, but it sounded more like hope than certainty.
“or it could be days,” you said quietly.
he didn’t argue.
“or weeks or never at all!” you added, pushing it, because you needed him to really think about it, not just cling to the best-case scenario.
“it’s the only plan that doesn’t make things worse. it’s better than the alternative.” he replied.
you stilled. “what alternative?”
he didn’t say anything.
which, unfortunately, was an answer.
you exhaled slowly, your chest tight. “okay. no. we’re not doing this vague shit. we need to actually say it.”
“we really don’t,” he said quickly.
“we do,” you insisted. “because if we don’t, we’re just going to keep circling around it and nothing gets solved.”
he dragged a hand down his face. “no.”
“ryland—”
“no,” he repeated, firmer this time. “we are not— no. that is not the solution.”
you stared at him. you've never heard his voice went that rough. that low. “it’s the only solution that makes sense.”
“it’s not a solution,” he shot back. “it’s—” he stopped, jaw tightening. “it’s not something we should even consider.”
“we both know what this is doing to us,” you pressed, voice low but steady now. “it’s not just going to fade if we sit in separate rooms pretending we’re fine. it’s getting worse.”
“i said no,” he repeated, sharper this time.
“and what happens if it peaks while we’re in the middle of something critical?” you continued anyway. “a maneuver, a repair, a calculation— what then? we just hope we can think straight?”
“we will think straight,” he snapped. “we’re not animals.”
“no, we’re worse,” you shot back. “we’re aware of it and still can’t stop it.”
he looked away first, jaw flexing, like he was trying to clamp down on something.
“we are not going to make a decision like that under the influence of alien—” he gestured helplessly, “—whatever this is.”
“we might not have a choice,” you said.
“we always have a choice.”
“do we?” you asked. “because right now it feels like we’re both in agony and pretending that distance is going to fix it.”
he flinched. barely, but enough.
“you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do,” he said, quieter now. steadier. like he was forcing the words into place. “okay? whatever this is, it doesn't make that decision for us. you don’t—” he stopped, swallowing. “you don’t owe me anything. not for survival, not for the mission. nothing.”
your expression softened for half a second, before hardening again.
“this isn’t about owing anyone anything,” you said. “this is about reality. about what’s actually happening. we can’t function like this, ryland.”
“we can,” he insisted. “we will.”
“you don’t believe that.”
he didn’t answer.
you stepped closer without thinking. his shoulders tensed immediately, like proximity itself was dangerous.
“look at me,” you said.
he did.
“you’re telling me to isolate,” you said, softer now, but more intense. “to stay away from you, to fight this out on our own, when we both know exactly what would make it stop.”
his breath hitched. just slightly, but he held his ground. “knowing something doesn’t mean we should do it.”
“why not?” you asked. “if it works, if it stabilizes us, if it lets us actually do our jobs.... why not?”
“because that’s not a choice,” he said, the words coming out sharper than he meant them to. “that’s a reaction. that’s the pollen making the decision for us.”
“or it’s us making the best decision with the situation we have,” you countered.
“no,” he said, shaking his head, stepping back now like he needed the space. “no, that’s not the same thing.”
you followed without realizing.
“then what is?” you demanded. “we wait it out and risk compromising the mission? we split up and hope nothing goes wrong? how is that better?”
“because at least it’s ours,” he snapped.
the words hung there. then he froze, like he hadn’t meant to say it that way.
you frowned slightly. “what?”
he dragged a hand down his face, exhaling hard. “if we— if we do this, it shouldn’t be because we’re backed into a corner. it shouldn’t be because some alien dust messed with our heads and left us with one option.”
“it’s still us,” you said. “it’s still our choice.”
“is it?” he asked quietly.
that got you. because there was something in his voice now. something deeper than just logic. something personal.
“i don’t want that,” he went on, more quietly now, but more intense for it. “i don’t want.... something like that to happen because we had no other way out. because we were trying to survive it. i don’t want it to be something we look back on and think, ‘we didn’t really choose that.’”
you stared at him.
he looked away again, jaw tight.
“that’s not—” you started, then faltered. “that’s not what this is about.”
“it is for me,” he said.
there was a beat.
“we don’t have the luxury of waiting for perfect conditions,” you said, more gently now. “we have a mission. we need each other functioning.”
“i know,” he said. “i know that.”
“then stop pretending this is something we can just outlast.”
“i’m not pretending,” he said, voice rougher now. “i’m choosing the option where you don’t wake up later and regret it.”
pause.
you blinked at him. your voice came out quieter than you intended. “you think i’d regret it.”
“i think,” he said carefully, “that this isn’t exactly a clear-headed situation.”
you opened your mouth but no argument came out. because he wasn’t wrong.
“i’m just saying that it might fix the problem.”
“at what cost?”
a beat.
he stepped closer. just one step, but it closed the gap enough that the heat surged again, sharp and immediate, both of you feeling it.
his hands flexed at his sides like he was actively resisting the instinct to do something else with them.
“you think you won’t regret that?” he asked, voice lower now, rougher around the edges. “you think we won’t look back at this later and realize we only did it because we didn’t have a choice?”
you didn’t answer right away.
he shook his head, almost to himself. “that’s not…. that’s not how that should happen.”
there was something else in his voice then, something quieter, buried under all the logic and resistance. something that didn’t quite belong to the situation at hand.
“if we’re going to—” he stopped, jaw tightening, then tried again. “if something like that ever happens, it shouldn’t be because we’re trying to survive some alien.... whatever this is. it should be because we actually—”
you watched him cutting himself off. the way his shoulders were locked, the way his whole body looked like it was braced against something internal, something he was refusing to let slip.
“isolating wouldn't work,” you said quietly. “we can’t do this alone. not here. not now.”
“maybe not,” he admitted.
“then—”
“i’m still not doing that,” he cut in.
you blinked. “ryland—”
“i’m not,” he repeated, firmer now. “we’ll figure something else out. we’ll manage it. we have to.”
“even if it makes things harder?”
“yeah,” he said. “even then.”
you searched his face. trying to understand. trying to find the line he wouldn’t cross.
“you’re really that set on this,” you said.
“yeah,” he said quietly.
another pause.
“fine,” you said at last, though it didn’t sound like agreement so much as reluctant acceptance. “we do it your way.”
he nodded once.
“we isolate,” you added. “but if it gets worse—”
“we reassess,” he said immediately.
neither of you moved.
just stood there, separated by a few steps and a whole lot of tension, both of you very aware of how fragile that distance felt.
like it could disappear in a second.
like he might cross it.
like you might let him.
his jaw tightened.
his shoulders went rigid again.
and for a split second, he looked like he might—
but then he turned away.
“i’ll take the lab first,” he said, voice a little rough. “you can have the cockpit.”
you swallowed. “okay.”
“we’ll.... check in. over comms.”
“right.”
—
you weren't sure what time it was, but two things for certain: you were going crazy because sleep refused to come and the ceiling was mocking you.
you had been lying in bed, tangled in your sheets for what felt like hours but was probably just twenty minutes, staring at the ceiling, flipping from one side to the other like a rotisserie chicken. the gold dust still simmered under your skin, turning every shift of fabric into slow torture. your tank top clung to your damp chest. your shorts felt too tight, too rough, too everything. you rolled onto your stomach, then flopped onto your back again, kicking the blanket off with a dramatic groan.
“this is stupid,” you muttered into the dark, dragging a pillow over your face like that might solve anything. “this is so fucking stupid. i am the pilot of the hail mary. i’ve navigated black holes in simulations. i should not be this horny because of some stupid alien dust.”
another wave of heat rolled through you, settling low and insistent between your legs. you whimpered softly, pressing your thighs together, but that only made it worse.
your brain refused to calm, looping the same thoughts over and over again.
ryland’s voice.
ryland’s face.
ryland's arms.
ryland's hair.
just him in general. the way he’d looked at you before you separated. the way his voice had tightened. the way his shoulders had gone rigid like he was holding himself together by sheer force.
you groaned softly into your pillow, pressing your face into it like that might smother the thoughts.
with a frustrated sigh, you shoved the covers off and swung your legs over the side of the bed, the cool floor a brief relief against overheated skin. you sat there for a second, breathing, trying to steady yourself before started pacing.
“isolation,” you scoffed under your breath, pacing faster. “yeah, great plan, ryland. fantastic plan, ryland. terrific plan! it was never gonna fucking work.”
you sighed again before stopping to take a deep breath.
“okay,” you said to yourself. “it's fine. it's fine! you're okay. you're doing good. just— breathe. it’ll pass.”
you closed your eyes and tried to focus.
in.
out.
in—
“mhmmph—”
pause.
you blinked an eye open.
what—
“mhmphhh— fuckk—”
—the hell was that?
you tilted your head slightly, listening.
at first, nothing. just the low hum of the ship, steady and familiar. long enough you were starting to think that your brain was playing tricks on you.
but then—
“oh, please— please—”
it was soft and faint. slightly uneven. and came from the other side of the wall.
and the other side of the wall was ryland's room.
you froze. you heard it again. a low, muffled whimper drifted through the thin wall
unmistakenably ryland.
he was in the room next to yours.
awake.
and very clearly not handling this any better than you were.
he was trying so hard to stay quiet, really committing to the bit, but failing miserably. another whimper followed, shaky and desperate, quickly bitten off. the faint, rhythmic sound of skin on skin. a muttered curse. your name, whispered like he was cursing the universe for putting him in this position.
heat flooded your face so fast you probably matched the emergency lighting. you stood there, mouth slightly open, ears straining despite yourself.
is he—
no.
no way.
no fucking way.
another moan, softer this time, but unmistakably him. he was doing a terrible job at being stealthy. the wall might as well have been paper.
you paced faster, hands flapping uselessly at your sides like a malfunctioning robot.
dilemma time. big, stupid, pollen-fueled dilemma.
option #1: stay in your room. be responsible. respect the isolation plan he’d suggested earlier like the noble scientist he was. suffer in dignified silence until the dust wore off. maybe meditate. or count rivets in the ceiling. very professional.
option #2: march over there, bang on his door, and finally deal with whatever this is, together.
you stopped, pressing your ear against the cool wall, right where the sounds were loudest. another whimper from his side. your stomach flipped. your body voted very enthusiastically for option two.
“but he said isolate,” you argued with yourself in a harsh whisper. “he was all ‘we’re professionals, we can handle this.’ what if i go over there and he freaks out? what if it gets awkward? what if he opens the door with his dick in his hand and we both just scream?”
you frowned at the mental image. not very flattering thing to think about.
“fuck, no. i’m strong. i’m a pilot. i’ve done evasive maneuvers in asteroid fields. i'm on a mission to save earth. i can handle one night of alien-induced horniness without climbing my crewmate like a tree.”
you resumed pacing, arms crossed tight over your chest like that would somehow contain the fire. three steps. turn. three steps. the sounds from his room continued. another low moan, a bitten-off “shit” that sounded way too sexy for your sanity.
you stopped again, staring at your door like it was the airlock to certain doom.
your hand hovered near the door panel. you yanked it back like the button burned.
“no. professional boundaries. we have a mission. we have dignity. we—”
a particularly broken moan cut through the wall, followed by a muffled thump like he’d smacked his head against something.
you groaned, dragging both hands down your face. “okay, fuck it. i’m weak. i’m so fucking weak. if he doesn’t want this he can yell at me tomorrow when the pollen wears off.”
a beat.
“if.... it ever wears off.” you added.
before you could talk yourself out of it again, you marched to the door, heart hammering like a faulty thruster. you raised your fist and banged on his door, loud, impatient.
no turning back now.
inside, everything went dead silent. then frantic shuffling. something clattered to the floor. then the door finally slid open.
ryland stood there, flushed crimson, hair a disaster, breathing like he’d just run a marathon. his glasses were crooked. shorts wrinkled, barely even on, one hand still guiltily hovering near his waist. his eyes widened comically when he saw you.
you didn’t give him time to speak.
you grabbed the front of his shirt, pulled him forward, and kissed him hard.
he made a surprised noise that got immediately swallowed when you kissed him, the door sliding open the rest of the way as he stumbled back into the room.
for a second, he didn’t move. just froze, like his brain had short-circuited.
then his hands came up instinctively, one landing on your waist, the other tangling in your hair as he kissed you back with pent-up desperation. you stumbled forward into his room, mouths still locked, and kicked the door shut behind you with your heel.
the kiss was messy at first. noses bumping, tongues fighting. but neither of you cared. you poured every ounce of frustration and heat into it. his back hit the wall and he pulled you closer, hips pressing against yours so you could feel exactly how affected he still was.
after a long, dizzying minute you forced yourself to pull back just enough to breathe.
“wait, wait,” you said, out of air. “you were the one who wanted to isolate. if you want me to stop.... say it. we can pretend this never happened—”
“no— no, no, no, no. don’t you dare,” he said immediately.
you blinked. “what?”
“don’t say we can stop and then actually mean it,” he said, like that was a personal attack. “that’s— no. absolutely not.”
you huffed a breath that might’ve been a laugh. “you were literally the one arguing against doing this.”
“i know,” he said. “i was wrong. past me was— misguided. naive. deeply out of touch with current events.”
“current events,” you repeated.
“yes,” he said, nodding once, very serious about this. “new data has come to light.”
“and that data is?”
“i need you.”
a beat.
“please.” he stared at you, eyes dark and glassy, lips swollen. his hands flexed on your hips like he was scared you’d vanish. for a heartbeat the only sound was your ragged breathing and the low hum of the ship.
“i tried— i really fucking tried to be good. but this dust is evil and you were just right next door and you look too good in that tank top and i’ve been losing my mind for hours. please.”
you raised an eyebrow, smirking. “oh, so that's what the staring was for earlier?”
“i.... well, i mean— yeah.” he stammered, realizing there is no point of pretending anymore.
you couldn't help but chuckled. “yeah, okay. the feeling's mutual.”
“yeah?” he laughed too.
“yeah.”
“can i kiss you again then?”
you smiled. “thought you'd never asked.”
this time it was him who surged forward, kissing you slower this time, deeper, letting the burn build deliberately. his glasses fogged up immediately, the lenses clouding over from the combined heat of your breaths. he didn’t take them off. didn’t even reach for them. just kept kissing you through the haze, like the fog made it somehow hotter. your fingers traced his jaw, his neck, the rapid flutter of his pulse. he shivered under your touch.
you walked him backward toward the bunk without breaking the kiss. when his knees hit the edge he sat down heavily, pulling you with him so you straddled his lap. the new position pressed you right against the hard line of him, making you both gasp into each other’s mouths.
slowly, you started undressing each other. your hands slid under his shirt, palms mapping the warm, flushed skin of his chest. he lifted his arms so you could tug it off. you tossed it somewhere behind you, leaving him in only his glasses. he returned the favor, peeling your tank top up inch by inch, kissing every new strip of skin he revealed. your stomach, the underside of your breast, your collarbone, until the fabric was gone.
his fingers hooked into the waistband of your shorts. you rose up on your knees so he could slide them down your thighs along with your underwear. you kicked them away. then you focused on his shorts, tugging them down slowly, savoring the way his breath hitched when you freed him.
naked now, you settled back onto his lap, skin to skin. the contact was electric. you took your time, rocking gently against him without taking him inside yet, just feeling the slide and heat while you kissed him lazily, tongues tangling in slow, filthy strokes.
you reached between your bodies, wrapping your hand around him. he groaned loud, head tipping back, the sound vibrating through his chest. “fuck— your hand feels so good,” he breathed, hips twitching up into your grip. “please don’t tease me— been dying for this.”
“you sure about this?” you murmured against his lips between kisses, giving him one last out even as your hips rolled in a slow, teasing circle.
“never been more sure of anything in my life,” he breathed, hands gripping your thighs.
you laughed softly into his mouth, the sound turning into a moan when he shifted his hips just right. one of his hands slid between your bodies, fingers exploring with gentle, curious touches until you were trembling.
only then did you reach down, wrap your hand around him, and guide him to your entrance. you sank down inch by torturous inch, both of you moaning at the slow, perfect stretch. when you were fully seated you stayed there for a long moment, foreheads pressed together, breathing each other in while your bodies adjusted.
then you started to move.
slow rolls of your hips at first, savoring every drag and press. ryland’s head tipped back, exposing the long line of his throat. you leaned in to kiss along his jaw, his neck, sucking lightly at his pulse point while you rode him with deliberate, unhurried patience. his hands roamed your back, your sides, your breasts, learning every curve like it was new data he needed to memorize.
gradually the rhythm built. your movements grew deeper, harder. the bunk creaked steadily. soft gasps and moans filled the small room. his fingers found your clit, rubbing tight circles that made your rhythm falter and your breath catch.
“ryland— fuck, just like that—”
“you feel so good,” he panted, voice breaking on the words. “oh, baby— don’t stop, please—”
it hit you like a solar flare. you cried out his name loud, clenching around him hard, hips stuttering through the waves. he followed right after, burying himself deep with a broken, guttural moan.
“yes— fuck— coming— inside you— god, you’re perfect— take it all—”
you collapsed against his chest, both of you trembling, hearts hammering in sync. his arms wrapped around you tight, holding you close while the aftershocks rolled through, glasses still fogged and slightly askew on his nose.
for a long moment, neither of you said anything.
you were half sprawled across him, one leg tangled with his, your arm draped somewhere over his chest like you’d both simply.... collapsed and decided to stay that way. the room was quiet except for your breathing, slowly evening out, though not nearly fast enough to feel normal.
ryland was staring at the ceiling.
very intently.
like it had just revealed the meaning of life and he was still processing it.
“....so,” you said eventually.
“so,” he echoed.
another pause.
you shifted slightly, propping your chin on his chest so you could look at him. “on a scale from one to ‘we should never speak of this again,’ where are you at?”
he didn’t look at you.
“....i’m considering faking amnesia.”
you snorted. “wow. rude.”
“i’m kidding,” he said quickly, then paused. “mostly.”
“mostly,” you repeated.
“okay, no, that sounded worse than i meant it,” he said, finally turning his head toward you, eyes wide like he was trying to fix it in real time. “i don’t regret it. i do not regret it. i just—” he gestured vaguely with one hand, which was difficult considering you were partially pinning him down, “—need a second to emotionally catch up with my own life choices.”
you raised an eyebrow. “your life choices led you to space.”
“for the record, i did not consent to that.”
fair, but you ignored him. “and then to alien pollen.”
“unfortunately, yes.”
“and then to me.”
he hesitated.
“that part i’m less willing to categorize as a mistake.”
you stared at him for a second.
then narrowed your eyes. “that was almost smooth.”
“thank you,” he said. “i panicked halfway through it.”
“i could tell.”
another stretch of quiet settled in, but it was different now. looser. like the tension that had been buzzing under your skin all day had finally burned itself out, leaving something softer in its place.
“....for the record,” you added after a moment, “your ‘being quiet’ plan earlier? terrible.”
he made a strangled noise. “oh my god.”
“like, impressively bad,” you continued. “i heard everything.”
“you did not hear everything.”
“ryland.”
he covered his face with both hands, cheeks heated up. “i would like to be ejected into space now.”
“denied,” you said immediately. “we need you for the mission.”
“please, just kill me already.”
“also,” you added, very seriously, “for future reference, the wall is not soundproof.”
“i have gathered that,” he said into his hands.
“just making sure.”
he peeked at you through his fingers. “....are you going to bring this up again later?”
“oh, constantly.”
“i walked into that one.”
“you really did.”
another quiet moment passed.
you could feel his breathing steady under you now, less uneven, less strained.
“....hey,” he said after a while.
“yeah?”
there was a small pause before he spoke again, like he was choosing his words more carefully this time. “are you okay?”
it caught you off guard.
not the question itself, but the way he asked it. steady. grounded, like he needed the answer to mean something.
you blinked, then nodded. “yeah,” you said, softer. “i am.”
he turned his head then, just enough to look at you properly, like he needed the visual confirmation to go with it.
“okay,” he said finally, the word carrying more weight than it should have. “i'm glad.”
you nudged him lightly with your shoulder, a small, grounding kind of contact. “you?”
he let out a breath that sounded like it had been stuck somewhere in his chest for a while. “yeah. i think so. which is honestly surprising, given.... everything.”
another quiet stretch settled over you, but it wasn’t awkward. not really. just calm, in a slightly surreal, post haze kind of way.
eventually, the exhaustion caught up with you. real, actual exhaustion this time. not the restless, jittery kind from before.
you shifted closer without thinking, your head settling more comfortably against him.
he stilled for half a second then relaxed. his arm tightening just slightly around you.
“also,” he added, voice softer now, almost drowsy, “for the record…. i don’t regret it.”
your chest tightened. you didn’t lift your head, didn’t look at him. just let the words settle somewhere quiet inside you.
“…me neither,” you murmured.
that was the last coherent thing either of you said.
because a few minutes later, the exhaustion finally won.
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