Summary: Struggling to be intimate with Steve, even after something so traumatic, isn't so impossible when you have the most patient, loving boyfriend in the universe.
CW: 18+ MDNI!! undetailed references to past sexual assault on R (NOT by Steve), hurt/comfort, heavy angst, anorgasmic!reader, fingering (R), sex toy usage (R), R struggles with vaginismus, fluff, heavy petting, the sweetest most tender smut you could possibly imagine
AN: requested here :)
It isn’t that you don’t want to have sex with him— really.
Steve’s body has its own gravitational pull, and your central mass is one of its moons— you orbit him.
It’s something you think about often. Late at night, staring at the ceiling. Freshly dropped off from another of the countless perfect dates he’s taken you on.
His body; hot and soft and naked. What he might look like beneath his favorite yellow sweater and tapered jeans; your hand eventually slipping below the waistband of your shorts. You never seem to tense when it's your own hand.
And you’re beginning to wonder if that’s all you’ll ever get to have of him. In that way, at least.
Because every time a make-out session gets a little too heated, every time his hand travels a little too far up your thigh— you’re back there again: your choice, your autonomy— stripped from you by carelessly cruel hands.
Someone so far removed from Steve that they might as well be different species, but it doesn’t matter.
To your body? It feels the same.
You miss who you were before. And you know it’s only a matter of time before Steve starts asking questions you’re not sure you have the answer to; questions that even if you did, you wouldn’t be able to get the words out.
How would he look at you after that? Tainted? Broken— like something he’d like to return for something better?
Part of you— most of you— says no. No, Steve is a good guy. And yet.
And yet.
So it’s excuses. A lot of excuses. Until one night when you’ve used each one a few too many times. And Steve would never make you do something you didn’t want to; but he does want to know why.
Why you shut down. Why you don’t let him touch you the way he’s been used to with girlfriends in the past, despite being in a relationship with you for nearly a year.
And he’s not mad— never mad. Just asks you simply: “Am I doing something wrong?”
The way he says it cracks your resolve. He sounds sad— like this is something he’s been spiraling about; considering bringing up to you over and over before ultimately deciding not to. Until tonight.
“What?” You ask, caught off guard.
“It’s just— we’ve been together for a while now. And I feel ready to, y’know. Take the next step. But every time I try to initiate something with you it’s like— it’s like you go somewhere else.”
“I…” you’re beginning to panic. You’ve thought about how you might talk about this with Steve— dozens of times in fact— but doing it in theory is much different than doing it for real.
“It’s fine! If you don’t want to—” now Steve sounds like the one beginning to spiral, “you could never want to have sex with me and I’d still want to be with you— I love you—I just. I just want to talk about it. Is that... okay?”
And you know then that you can’t avoid it anymore. You almost feel guilty, as you begin to tell him: About the guy who so steadfastly assured you that you could trust him. About the fear, and the after.
About how you do trust Steve, and you do want him. But it’s hard, and you’re scared. And how even if you could convince your brain that he was someone who was undoubtedly safe, it feels as though you can’t quite get your brain to compute with the rest of your body.
Steve listens and he tries to understand. He doesn’t interrupt your train of thought and keeps a firm grasp on your hands while you recount everything; even when you have to take breaks. Even when you start to cry.
He’s silent for a long time when you’re done, pulling you into his arms to hold onto you tightly. His voice is steadfast despite the wavering when he whispers against your temple: “I’m so sorry, baby. I’m sorry that happened to you.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” you whisper back.
“No.” He says firmly but not unkind, “Don’t apologize for that. I can’t— I can’t even imagine what that must have been like.”
“I want to try.” You blurt, a little breathless, then continue when Steve's brows furrow, “I want to try— to have sex with you. I’m just scared.”
“I meant what I said earlier,” he levels you with his eyes, “it’s not a dealbreaker for me if you—“
“I know,” you interrupt, shaking your head, “but I want to. For me, too.” And then, after a pause: “It’ll take time. I just— need you to be patient with me.”
“Of course,” Steve nods his head minutely, “anything— of course.”
Your gaze lands back on the carpet where it’s been burning a hole for the entirety of your conversation; repeatedly finding it difficult to maintain eye contact with him. Why— you’re not totally sure.
“Hey, look at me—” he says, voice low enough to capture your attention again, “it’s whatever you need. However slowly you need to take things. Anything you do or don’t want to do. You call the shots, okay?”
You find your eyes welling with tears once again, but it feels different this time. It feels less like shame, and more like unconditional love. Less like fear, and more like hesitant optimism. However this goes, you know you’ll always have Steve.
"C'mere." He says, beckoning you with open arms. With your head against his solid chest you can hear him faintly sniffling.
"I love you. So much." He tells you, his voice thick with emotion.
"I know," your chin digs into his sternum when you look up at him, "I love you."
He leans down, kisses your forehead, and you promptly fall asleep.
"So it's a mental thing? Or a physical one?" Steve asks you a few days later, propped up on one elbow in your bed with you lying beside him.
"Both, kind of?"
How do you explain that you trust him so completely, but that your body keeps the score?
"It's like, my body remembers what it felt like, and it puts it's guard up. Even if I'm trying not to."
Steve nods like he's starting to understand.
"I trust you," you explain, "but my body doesn't know the difference between your hand trying to touch me versus… someone else. So I have to really get in the right state of mind first. That’s why I need you to be extra patient with me." You huff an awkward laugh, kicking yourself that you even need to be having this type conversation.
Why can't you just have and enjoy sex like everyone else your age?
"No, that makes total sense." Steve assures you, rubbing a soothing hand up and down your arm, "Can I ask you something kind of, uh. Kinda personal?"
You quirk an eyebrow at him, "Sure...?"
"Do you—" he clears his throat, "Do you have any problems, like— touching yourself?"
His question sends your stomach flipping; you can feel your cheeks burning fiery hot, "No, that's— that's really all I've done since it happened. But it took me a while to be able to."
"Right, of course," he shakes his head, "Would you be comfortable, maybe, showing... me?"
You choke on a glob of your own spit. "Showing you?"
"Yeah, just— like— how you usually do it. Touch yourself, I mean. Maybe that can be the first thing we do. That way it's something you're used to. Something you're already comfortable with."
"Yeah," sometime between the last few minutes and now you've become awfully breathless, "We could do that, sure."
Steve's face breaks out in a warm grin, "Okay. What do you usually think about?"
Your cheeks tingle with heat again, "... You. Usually."
His own cheeks redden at that; his smile turning shy, "Me?"
"Who else?" You laugh shakily.
"No, yeah, it's just— really hot. That you think about me."
When you're not sure how to respond, he says, "What am I doing? When you're imagining it?"
You push through the embarrassment of having to recall your fantasies to Steve, if only because he looks so eager to know.
"Well, um. Usually you're kissing me? Or, like. Touching my thighs. Sometimes I imagine that my hand is actually yours, or what you might look like, um, naked?"
If you were to glance down, you'd see Steve half-hard in his pajama pants. And you do, briefly.
He adjusts himself indiscreetly when he catches you looking, "Sorry," he mutters, suddenly bashful.
"No, it's— it's good. I'm glad this is attractive to you and not totally pathetic and humiliating," you chuckle self-depricatingly.
"Are you kidding?" He breathes. "This is the most turned on I've been in, like, a long time,"
"Do you usually use your hands? Toys?" He asks in the silence that follows his confession.
"Both. I have a vibrator that I like," you admit.
“Ah.” Steve doesn't talk again for what feels like hours but what is realistically more like three minutes. You can tell he's wrestling with something internally— you're just not sure what.
"Would you want to use it now? While I kiss you?" He asks you, barely audible.
He's looking at you with poorly concealed desire; you know he's only holding back so that you know he won't be disappointed if you deny his request.
"That would be nice," you tell him genuinely. "Would you kiss me for a while first?"
Steve's face lights up, "'Course, baby,"
He barely has to move in order to be crowding your space— one muscled arm slipping beneath your waist to pull you close and the other brushing a stray piece of hair behind your ear.
"You tell me if you want to stop, yeah?" He reminds you. "Or if something doesn't feel good, or if you want me to do something else. You call the shots."
"Okay," you exhale against his lips. His kiss is hesitant at first in a way he usually isn't— but this time is different. More delicate.
He gains more confidence when his tongue brushes your lower lip and you open up for him. And then your hands are brushing his cheeks and roaming the solid expanse of his back.
Steve kisses you breathless; until your lips are swollen and you have to break for air.
"The vibrator," you pant, "Is in the top drawer." You gesture to the wooden nightstand closest to your side of the bed.
Steve pulls away just long enough to open the drawer and grab the small, dark blue bullet from inside of it. He hands it to you.
Your hands tremble as you push your sleep shorts and underwear down your thighs. "Can I keep the blanket over me?" You ask Steve from beneath your lashes.
"Yeah, baby, 'course. Whatever makes you more comfortable." He says, brushing the back of his knuckles across your face softly.
You nod in acknowledgement. When the bullet clicks on, the buzzing is deafening in the quiet of the room— the only other sound to be heard is your combined breathing.
Your legs rustle the top sheet as you spread them wide enough to fit your hand snugly between them. Your hips jerk slightly at the first brush of the toy against your clit.
Steve's breath hitches in your ear and you think maybe he's not sure if he should speak or not. His hands rub circles into your shoulders and arms instead.
You're already slick from all the kissing and heavy-petting from Steve, which is usually the most frustrating part when you're alone. You trail your fingers down past your stomach and below the blanket, collecting your arousal to lubricate everything a bit more.
The vibration against your core is powerful and deliciously pleasant. You throw your head back, sighing softly, "Will you talk to me?"
Steve chokes on a groan. He leans down, slots his face in the crook of your neck and speaks against your skin between hot, open-mouthed kisses, "You're so pretty, baby. So beautiful, touching yourself for me."
The smallest moan escapes you. It spurs Steve on all the more.
"What do you need from me, huh? You want me to keep kissing you?" He asks in a tone that sounds rhetorical but you can tell he's truly asking. His large hand engulfs your breast, "Or maybe I can taste these perfect tits?"
"Yes—" You gasp.
"To which one, pretty girl?" He huffs a low laugh beside your ear.
"My—" it's a struggle to get the words out, feeling suddenly bashful, "my tits, please,"
Steve's fingers worm beneath your t-shirt in an instant, "Good girl, baby. So polite for me,"
You can feel the ends of his hair tickling your chin, the bottom of your neck, as he slides down your body to take one of your perked nipples into the heat of his mouth.
It's one of the most sensitive places on your entire body. You've allowed Steve the privilege only once before. He moans around his mouthful of you and it feels so good that your entire back arches and you keen— loud and unabashed.
Steve's eyes flit to your face. He's never heard you make that sound before, and he's sure he'd do just about anything to hear it again.
When just external stimulation becomes insufficient, you reach for Steve's hand. His eyes widen a fraction when he catches onto what you're about to do.
"Are you—" he swallows thickly, "Are you sure?"
"Yes," you exhale, "just go slow, okay?"
"Yeah, baby— yeah. Okay," he nods emphatically, then stops to watch his hand disappear beneath the blanket.
Your breath catches in your chest at the sensation of his fingers against your entrance. You instinctively tense; anxiety beginning to lift its head in your chest. Maybe this was never going to work.
“Hey—” Steve’s voice pulls you from your potential spiral, “look at me? Good. It’s just me, baby. You’re safe.”
You nod, your eyes squeezing shut as you attempt to find your way back to the pleasure you’d achieved only minutes ago, letting a slow breath out through your nose.
“Would it help if I kissed you some more?” He asks.
You nod, reaching for him. His lips slot seamlessly against yours, and the taste of him— the smell of him— brings you back into your body.
One lithe finger slips past your entrance with a little resistance while you’re more focused on his tongue dancing against your own. You barely register it until the pad of his index finger flexes perfectly against your g-spot.
“Oh—fuck,” you gasp.
“You okay?” Steve checks. “That’s good?”
“It’s good, it’s—“ you pause, swallow, “it’s different.”
“Different?”
“Just feels better than when I use my own,” you admit.
Steve’s eyes shine; his skin glistening with perspiration. He curls his finger again, just to see what you’ll do.
“Oh, god—“ you whine, “Do that again, fuck—“
“So bossy,” Steve teases but obviously obeys. The fact that you’ve even gotten this far means the world to him— he’s ecstatic. “Jesus— you’re so fuckin’ wet. That all for me?”
You nod with your face pressed into his chest, “That feels so good, Steve—“
The closer you get to your orgasm, the more nervous you become. This is always the part where your body betrays you; even when you’re alone.
For the sake of not jinxing it, you don’t tell Steve that you’re close. Luckily for you, he can tell without you verbalizing it. Your moans grow louder— more primal in their pitch— and your legs are shaking like leaves.
“Fuck— are you close?” Steve’s voice is wrecked like he’s the one about to come. It makes arousal churn low in your stomach.
“I think so,” you sigh, your brows pinched in determination, “Oh god, fuck— Steve—“
“Don’t tense up, babygirl, you’re okay,” Steve keeps his exact pace; unwilling to risk changing anything and losing your high, “Just relax— there you go. I’ve got you.”
It’s equal amounts sweet and sexy and exactly what you needed in that moment. Your climax peaks and washes over you in waves— a sensation you haven’t felt in years.
You nearly scream when it happens; the sensation so overwhelmingly powerful between Steve’s finger and the vibration from your toy. Tears leak from the corners of your closed eyes. Out of pleasure or relief? You’re not sure.
You just know it feels great. Amazing, even.
The sound of Steve’s voice pulls you back to Earth again. Murmurs of sweet nothings in your ear: So good for me. You’re so beautiful, honey. I’m so proud of you.
It all sounds underwater for a few minutes, like your ears are stuffed with cotton. The tears increase steadily the more conscious you become.
Steve’s face morphs from mildly concerned to horrified when your chest begins heaving with sobs, “Hey! Hey, woah, what’s the matter, baby? Talk to me,”
His thumbs act to catch the salty drops as they fall; hands framing your face. “Are you okay? Did I— did I do something? I—,”
The sound of his voice shaking is powerful enough to allow you to suck in a breath and tell him, “No, it’s okay, I’m—,” hiccup, “okay. It’s—,” hiccup, “good.”
“You’re crying,” Steve states, like you somehow don’t already know.
“I love you,” you choke, “I just feel— so relieved.”
“Okay,” he all but whispers. Big, strong arms wrap you up and hold you close, “It’s okay, I love you.”
You don’t move from that spot against Steve for a full hour. Only when you inform him that your right arm has fallen asleep does he let go of you.
“Sorry ‘bout your shirt,” you chuckle nasally.
Steve looks down at the spot where his heather gray shirt had turned to a darker charcoal color— stained with the tears of the person he loves. “That’s okay, baby,” he grins, then asks more seriously: “How’re you feeling?”
“I’m alright, Stevie,” you say, a little embarrassed. “I’m sorry about…all that.” You gesture at the bed between you with your arms.
“Hey— no. None of that.”
“But—,”
“You have nothing to apologize for.” He assures you firmly. “Nothing at all. You hear me?”
Your eyes find a loose thread on the comforter to stare at instead of the intensity of your boyfriend’s expression, “Okay.”
“Let’s go order some food, how’s that sound?” He asks, rubbing his thumb soothingly over the top of your hand, “You’ve gotta be tired after that.”
The teasing smirk on his face earns him a soft smack to the chest, your cheeks flushing, “Not funny.”
“I’m not laughing!” He is. He’s actively laughing. And you love him.
what’s one thing that annoyed you/you didn’t like about stranger things
only thing that really sticks out is repeatedly calling characters by their first and last names. idk i just don't particularly care for that. people dont do that irl most of the time
clark kent x reader
word count | 11.3k
warnings | 18+ mdni, pining and yearning, injuries, swearing, lex luthor is very creepy and threatening towards reader, oral, overstimulation, handjob, p in v sex
˗ˏˋ masterlist ˎˊ˗
Clark remembered the first time he laid eyes on you. LexCorp was hosting a gala to honor Lex Luthor for some invention that he claimed could cure a variety of ailments from something as simple as the flu to even something as horrific as tuberculosis. Now, whether he had ulterior motives was up for debate, but he sure did a good job of convincing people to like it.
Clark didn't believe a word of it, but it seemed like everyone else there did. Except for you.
When he first spotted you, you were taking a glass of champagne off of a server's tray. You almost never dressed up, but the dress code was fancier than you preferred. So you decided to wear a dress that hugged your body a bit tighter than you normally wanted them to, a pair of heels that you borrowed from your mom which barely fit as a result, and you let your hair hang in your face.
Looking in the mirror as you walked out of your apartment, you thought you looked so awkward that people would surely notice you were uncomfortable.
But all Clark saw? The most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. To him, the rest of the room went dark, and you were glowing. At least, you were, until you disappeared in the crowd, and he was left looking for you.
It was about an hour and a half before he got another glimpse of you. You climbed the stairs up to the balcony hanging over the lobby, where the event was being hosted. You leaned your elbows on the railing and just stared out at the crowd, propping your chin in one of your palms.
You really, truly did not know why you were there. You served Lex one time at the diner you worked at, and he apparently liked you so much that he decided to invite you personally.
He showed up one evening when it was just you, one cook, and a single customer at the bar.
"Evening," he greeted, hands behind his back.
"Evening." You grabbed a menu and he stopped you.
"I'm not here to eat, actually."
"Oh?"
"I just wanted to invite you to this." He pulled the invite around to the front of his body. "My company is hosting this gala. And I'd love if you would be in attendance."
"Me? Why?"
He shrugged. "Trying to invite as many people as possible. More people, more donations. You know how it is."
"Well..." You looked at the date to see that it happened to be a night you had off. "Okay. Sure. I'll be there."
"Amazing. See you there."
And without another word, he was gone.
And here you were. Alone at a party surrounded by people that you could tell just by looking were out of your tax bracket. Even just the single glass of champagne you had was horrible enough to let you know that it was the expensive kind.
Once you straightened your back, turned around, and leaned against the railing you had just had your elbows on, you spotted a bar across the balcony.
So you walked over and sat in one of the stools, sitting your fancy-event-handbag down on the counter next to you. You ordered your favorite simple drink, and the bartender nodded before beginning to make it.
At the same time, Clark was slowly climbing the stairs, eyes scanning the area for you. They landed on your back as you received your drink, thanking the man before taking a sip.
Much better than the champagne.
He stood for a moment, hands in his pockets, debating whether or not he wanted to come over to you. He took a deep breath and approached slowly, skipping the stool immediately to your left and taking the one over.
He caught your attention and you looked over, giving a polite smile before returning your gaze to your drink.
He ordered a simple beer, making a face when they served it to him in a glass instead of a bottle or a can, but drinking it regardless.
"I've never been to one of these," he spoke up after a moment.
You looked over at him. "Sorry?"
"A gala. I've never been to one before."
"Oh. Yeah, me either. It's a bit... fancy. For my taste."
"Yeah. Me too." A few awkward seconds of silence. "How do you know Lex?"
"I served him food. I guess I made a good impression." He let out an interested 'mm'. "What about you?"
"Uh, I don't, really. I work at The Planet. They wanted me and a couple other people to come take photos and stuff."
"Oh, cool. How do you like that?"
"I love it. Dream job."
"Good. You have to be passionate about it if you're doing that."
"Yeah. I am. Passionate." Another moment of silence. "Clark." He stuck his hand out.
"Y/N." You shook his hand.
"You're a server?"
"Yeah. Nothing super exciting, but it pays the bills. Somehow."
"Where at?"
"The diner on fifth."
"Oh no way? I used to go there all the time when I first moved here."
"Well, I've only been there a couple of years."
"I haven't been in probably... four? Four-ish years. Well, now I have a reason to go back." He gave you a warm smile and you returned it, not exactly knowing what to say.
But, as if he was saving you the trouble, you felt a hand on your shoulder and you turned to see Lex.
"Hey, you," he said, a forced and clearly awkward smile on his lips. "You disappeared."
It wasn't lost on you that he was acting like you'd known each other forever. You just hoped he dropped the act soon.
"Oh, yeah. Well, I'm not much of a party person."
"Gala."
"Yeah, sorry. Gala."
He turned his attention to Clark. "Mr. Kent. I heard some people from The Daily Planet would be here tonight. Good reviews, I hope."
"Nothing but." Clark nodded once at him.
"Wonderful." Looking back at you, he continued, "I hope you're enjoying yourself."
"I am. Thank you."
"Of course. Feel free to find me if you need me."
"Will do. Thanks."
And with that, he was gone.
"You sure you're not friends?" Clark asked, also noticing how Lex acted like he was close with you.
"Trust me. We're not. He kind of gives me the creeps, if I'm being totally honest with you. I think it's the lack of hair."
This made Clark laugh. "It's always the bald guys."
This was the last time he saw you for a while. Your paths didn't cross again until about a month later when he remembered you mentioning that you worked at the diner. And, as it would work out, he happened to be hungry.
It was rush hour, everyone just getting off of work. Clark included. You were expecting more business, but considering it was a Monday and everyone was tired from their first day back from the weekend, you let go of that expectation.
He lingered outside of the diner for about three minutes, rubbing the back of his neck with his left hand, debating whether or not it would be creepy to visit you while you were working, if it would be a red flag.
But what he didn't know was that you could see him working up the nerve to come in from the hostess stand. And it made you chuckle to yourself. How could such a large, kind man be so nervous about seeing you?
So when he finally got the courage to open the door, you greeted him with a warm smile.
"Clark, right?" you asked as his cheeks went slightly pink.
"Yeah. You remembered."
"I'm good with names. You want a seat at the bar or a booth?"
"Whatever section you're serving."
You smirked. "Booth it is."
When he looked at the menu, he realized his anxiety basically made his appetite disappear. So he simply ordered a coffee and a piece of blueberry pie.
And when you brought it out, you sat down across from him.
"Look good?" you asked, propping your elbows on the table and crossing your forearms.
"Smells even better."
A few seconds of silence went by as he blew on the bite on his fork, putting it in his mouth, and visibly wincing from its temperature.
"So. How have you been?" you asked.
While covering his mouth and talking while chewing his pie, he answered, "Same as always."
"Which is...?"
"Can't complain." He swallowed. "How about you?"
"Same as always," you joked, making him smile. "To be completely honest with you, I didn't expect you to actually come in."
"How come?"
You shrugged. "I don't know. I thought it was just fun party banter."
"Gala," he jokingly corrected, making you sarcastically roll your eyes. "Well, I think we had good conversation. And you seem interesting."
"Interesting?"
"In a good way. You weren't like the other people at that gala."
"How so?"
"You seem genuine." You tilted your chin up a bit. "Honestly I hate being around those people."
"Those people?"
"They're just snobby. Desperate to show off their million dollar contribution to a man who's routinely destroyed the city trying to kill Superman. It just feels... gross to watch. Like I don't belong there."
"I don't disagree. I felt super out of place. I mean, I make, like, twelve bucks an hour plus tips. Those people probably make ten times that. Not like they tried to hide it. I was talking to this one woman who's the CFO of some big bank here and she told me to my face that last year's salary was three hundred and forty seven thousand dollars. Not counting her bonus." Clarks eyes widened. "I tried to make a joke that I make twelve bucks plus tips and she just looked at me like I'm homeless or something."
"Jeez."
"I just feel so uncomfortable around people like that, y'know?"
"Oh yeah. I get it. I told someone there that I was a journalist for The Planet and he told me I should work my way up and become the CEO. And when I told him I was actually happy with my fifty five 'kay a year, he told me I just wasn't 'thinking about my future'." He did air quotes with his free hand at that.
"Jesus, man. I hate rich people."
He smirked at you, taking another bite of his pie.
"This's really good," he said, again with his mouth full.
"Yeah. Old family recipe from the owner. That and the apple pie are hits."
"I can see why."
Your break went by quickly, eventually being called back up by one of the cooks. Clark asked for his check and wound up leaving while you were in the bathroom. And it made sense why he did that.
When you returned to the table, your eyes widened at the sight of the tip he left.
On a six dollar bill, he gave you thirty dollars. You couldn't take this. It was five times the amount of his bill. In cash. Which meant it was all yours, no taxes taken out.
But you shoved it in your pocket before anyone else could spot it, sighing to yourself.
And as you were cleaning off the table he'd been at after closing, you noticed something in the seat - his driver's license. It must've fallen out of his wallet when he was taking the cash out.
Clark Joseph Kent. Born February 29th - a leapling.
You tucked it into your pocket with the money, deciding you would take it to him tomorrow since it was your day off.
The next morning, you slept in until almost noon - sometimes you needed it for your sanity. You got dressed quickly, wanting to catch Clark after his lunch break.
Standing in the elevator heading up to the floor the security guard instructed you to go to, you had to take a deep breath. You knew this might be awkward, and you didn't handle awkward well.
You kind of wandered around for a few seconds, scanning the area for the man you were looking for. He was hunched over his desk, typing on his computer. He looked huge at his cubicle, the area clearly not meant for someone as tall as him.
You slowly walked over, hands in your jacket pockets, stopping behind him, a few inches from the corner of his desk. He noticed you immediately, turning in his chair, straightening his posture, and giving you a warm smile.
"Hey. What's up?"
You pulled his license out of your pocket and handed it to him.
"You must have dropped this. It was in your booth."
Your presence was attracting an audience. Clark wasn't exactly known around the office as being good with women, his awkwardness always getting in his way. A few people gathered at his coworker Jimmy's desk, just watching intently.
"Oh gosh. Thank you. I didn't even realize."
"I also came to return this." You handed him the wad of cash, but he looked at it in confusion. "I think you may have made a mistake or something giving me this much."
"What? No, this is for you."
You scoffed. "Clark, I can't possibly accept this."
"Why not?"
"Because it's too much. You ordered a coffee and a slice of pie. This is, like, five times what your bill was."
"I'm a good tipper. Plus if I tip cash you get to keep all of it."
He handed the money back to you.
"Clark, I can't accept this." You placed it down on his desk. "Seriously."
"You would if I was a stranger."
"Yeah, but you're not. I'm not taking it. And I'm not gonna argue about it."
"No argument needed. And you are keeping it."
He picked up the cash and, in a somewhat questionable move, grabbed the outer lining of your jeans pocket, pulled it open, and shoved what he could fit of his hand into it.
When your eyes got wide at this, he immediately pulled back, his jaw slightly dropped. All of the coworkers watching let out audible groans of cringe, some of them covering their mouths with their hands.
"That- Uh... I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that. That was... weird. I'm sorry."
"No, uh... It's- It's fine, Clark." Neither of you spoke for a moment. "I'll see you around."
You turned and scurried away, not even looking at the people eavesdropping.
But he did.
His face was beet red, and he swore his heart was going to beat straight through his chest.
He ran his hand through his hair nervously, looking at his coworkers. Lois gave him an uncomfortable and sarcastic thumbs up, but all he could do was groan and bury his face in his arms on his desk.
"Good one, man. I didn't think you could bomb harder than the last time," Jimmy called from his desk, chuckling to himself.
When you arrived back at your apartment, you pressed your back against the door, closing your eyes and sighing. You probably would've been able to brush it off had it not been for his coworkers' reactions. They only emphasized how awkward it was, as if you needed that.
The next few days were full of you replaying that in your head. How his hand didn't fully fit into your pocket, how much the energy immediately shifted, how adorably deep red his face got.
But you physically shook your head to get that last thought out of your mind. You needed to stop thinking about how hard it was to ignore how attracted you were to him, how you couldn't get his smile off your mind.
You'd literally only spoken to him three times. It made you feel like a middle schooler.
So you did your best to shove Clark out of your mind, to ignore the fact that he even existed.
That was, at least, until your restaurant was damaged by some flying robot for what wasn't the first time, your collarbone snapping and your face being cut by glass when some debris came flying at you.
Multiple ambulances rushed you and a few customers to the hospital about twenty minutes later.
You weren't sure if it was the drugs they had pumping into your arm, but you were actually a bit relieved to see Clark step into your hospital room while you were being discharged, notepad in hand.
"Hi," you greeted tiredly.
"Hi. I didn't realize you'd be here."
"No?"
He shook his head. "My boss sent me to get a statement from one of the people who was hurt. Glad it was you." You raised your eyebrows at this and the corners of your mouth lifted slightly. Realizing what he said, he immediately started trying to correct himself. "That- That wasn't what I meant. I just- I meant I'm glad I get to interview you and-and see you again. Not that I'm glad you got hurt, I don't want that. I would never want that. I'm actually not happy you got hurt." When he noticed your amused smile, he sighed. "Sorry. I'm rambling."
"It's okay," you laughed. "I know what you meant." He let out a relieved breath. "I just got discharged, why don't we go outside? You can interview me there."
You were struggling to walk a bit, having twisted your ankle in the chaos. You found a small table in a nice little seating area, where you could sit across from each other and look at him.
"Okay, first thing's first. I need your first and last name if you're comfortable giving them to me. If not, you can stay anonymous."
You grimaced. "I think I'd rather stay anonymous."
"No judgement, but how come?"
"Well, I heard some chatter while I was getting loaded into the ambulance that it's a LuthorCorp robot. And if that's true, I'd rather not get on his bad side. Y'know?"
"Fair enough. I won't write a name down. Can you tell me exactly what happened?"
As you explained that you were at the hostess stand when you watched something that looked like a missile hit the sidewalk outside the restaurant, causing debris to fly through the window and hitting you in the shoulder, he wrote down every word you said. It was kind of refreshing, honestly, to see a journalist go back to the old-fashioned way.
"They said my collarbone is broken and I have some bruised ribs. The cuts on my face will probably take some time to heal, but luckily I'm good other than that and my ankle. I'm just glad the debris didn't hit my head or anything."
"Do you know if you'll get any time off of work?"
You shrugged the shoulder you could, but it made you wince a bit.
"No idea. I hope so, at least until I look more presentable."
"Oh, I think you look great."
You laughed. "Do you?"
"Yeah. You look like you just stepped out of an action movie or something."
"Well, I guess it's not that bad, then."
You just looked at each other for a moment before he went back to writing.
He had nice handwriting, but you let your curiosity get the better of you.
"How come you don't use one of those recording things?"
He looked back up at you and shrugged. "I just always liked having things in writing."
"Well, why not use both? Do you not ever make mistakes?"
"Nope. Never."
"Even if people are saying a lot?"
"I write fast."
You nodded. "Good for you. I think it's cool. Old-fashioned."
"I tend to be."
"I've noticed."
Another moment of looking at each other when his phone rang.
"Shoot, sorry. It's my boss."
"Oh, of course. Go ahead."
He put the phone to his ear, sighing at what he heard.
"Yeah, give me a little bit, I'll be back soon. I'm just finishing up with-... Yeah, I swear... Okay. Bye." He groaned after hanging up. "He needs me back. Do you have a ride?"
You shook your head. "I was gonna walk."
"On that ankle?"
"Don't really have much of a choice."
"Why don't you let me call you a cab?"
"No, it's fine. Seriously. I'll be fine."
"I saw you limping on our way out here. Please. It's the least I can do."
You sighed. "Okay. Fine. Thank you, Clark."
"Of course."
That was the last time you saw Clark for a while. For a couple of weeks you did nothing but sit at home recovering, deciding to just take your saved-up vacation days to give yourself a much needed break.
You weren't expecting any visitors when there was a knock at your door. You were cooking yourself some dinner, your ankle finally not hurting anymore. Your arm was still in a sling and your face was mostly healed.
When you opened the door, you were met with a face you really didn't expect to see.
Lex. In his typical wardrobe, a dark gray suit, and his hands behind his back.
"Lex?"
"Evening." You just stared at him for a moment before he raised his eyebrows. "Everything okay?"
"Uh... Yes. Sorry. I just didn't expect to see you when I opened the door."
"Mind if I come in?" When you hesitated, he continued. "I'll only be a moment. Promise."
You reluctantly stepped out of the way to allow him to enter. You followed him into the kitchen, where he took a gander at your food.
"What's up?" you asked, not getting very close to him.
"I heard about what happened." He turned back around to face you. "Your injuries."
"Oh. Yeah."
"How are you recovering?"
"Okay. Most everything has healed except my collarbone."
"I'm sorry to hear you got hurt. I can't help but feel a sense of responsibility for it."
You squinted a bit. "So it was your robot."
"Unfortunately. You were not my intended target."
"Who was, exactly?"
"Same person as always. Superman." You let out a hum in response. "The reason I came here is because I want to offer to pay your hospital bills. I know they can be a bit pricey. And with you working on... restaurant wages, I figured it's the least I can do."
You didn't answer at first, not intending to accept his offer.
"How did you find my address?"
"Your coworker told me. I stopped by to see if you were at work and when you weren't there, he told me where I could find you."
You nodded with pursed lips.
"Look, Lex. I appreciate your generosity. But I'm gonna have to decline."
"Absurd. Why would you say no?"
"Because. I don't like this."
"This?"
"I don't like that you showed up at my home unannounced. And I don't like you offering to pay a large sum of money that I would owe back. And I really don't like that you're responsible for me being hurt in the first place. So my answer is no."
You could tell this struck a nerve. That you'd offended him. He began to walk toward you, but he didn't stop as he got closer. You walked backwards, eventually into the wall in the hallway. He was taller than you, towering over you in as menacing a way as he could manage.
"You're sure?" he said, his voice low. "I think it would be... beneficial to you to accept."
You had to take a deep breath. "Yes, Lex. I'm sure. Again, I appreciate your offer-"
"Oh, can it." You were a bit taken aback by his aggression. "I would be very careful about what you say to me next."
You could tell that he was trying to scare you, but you decided not to let it show.
"I would appreciate it if you'd leave now," you said sternly, maintaining eye contact. "So I can eat my dinner. Before it burns."
He almost chuckled, a sly smirk crossing his lips.
"Have a good night, Y/N."
Without another word, he slowly walked out of your apartment, not bothering to close the door behind him.
Once you locked the door, you let out a heavy sigh. "Holy shit," you whispered to yourself, feeling your heart pounding.
You didn't sleep much that night. The idea of Lex having your address, of being able to show up any time he wanted - it scared you. He was not a man you wanted to be on the bad side of.
And the idea of your coworker giving your address out pissed you off.
The next morning, a Friday, you realized that the only person you wanted to talk to about it was Clark. He could get another statement from you, something new for another article. So you left your apartment around four o'clock, the walk taking about twenty minutes.
When you arrived on Clark's floor, you took a second to look around. The decor was very tasteful and cozy, making the room look welcoming. You hadn't really paid attention to it before, the last time you were here being too distracted.
When you spotted him at his desk, he was typing away while looking at his notes, his glasses halfway down his nose. You recognized a couple of the other people working from last time, but the only person whose name you knew was Clark.
When you walked over, he seemed to think you were one of his coworkers out of the corner of his eye.
"Give me a second, Lois. I'm almost at a stopping point."
"Take your time."
Your voice apparently sounded identical to whoever Lois was, because he didn't realize it was someone completely different. You felt a couple of eyes on you, so you looked around to see a woman at the desk behind Clark's. She gave you a small smile and motioned for you to come over. You did, and she rotated her chair to face you.
"Are you here for an interview? I could take a statement."
"Not exactly. I need to talk to Clark."
"What about?"
"A follow-up. For one of his stories he interviewed me for. I think I have some information he might like."
Clark got to a good stopping point just then and turned around to face the two of you, immediately realizing he wasn't talking to Lois a moment ago.
"Y/N!" he said, quickly standing up from his chair and walking over. "I'm sorry, I thought you were Lois here." He motioned to her. "I didn't mean to brush you off."
"It's okay."
"What are you doing here?"
"I have some information you might want. Since we don't really have any way to contact each other, I figured I'd just come in person."
"Okay. Follow me."
He took you into a dingy and dusty room full of archival boxes with records, transcripts, and everything else a news company would need to keep. There was a metal table with a chair on either side next to one shelf and a light hanging over it, almost making it look like an interrogation room.
He'd grabbed a notepad and pen before leading you to this room, so he could write down every word you said.
"How have you been? It's been a while," he said as he got set up.
"Turns out I had a bunch of vacation days saved up. I've been taking some extra time to recover."
"How do you feel?"
"Better than the last time we spoke."
"Good. So, what's this information you have for me?"
"It was Lex's robot."
"How do you know?"
"He told me."
"He told you?"
You nodded. "He stopped by my work. Got my address from a coworker. That dumbass. I can't for the life of me understand why he told him where I live. He showed up at my apartment last night, completely unannounced. He told me that he felt responsible for my injuries and offered to pay for my hospital bills."
After he finished writing, he asked, "Did he explicitly state that he was directly responsible? Or just that he felt responsible?"
"He explicitly stated it. I asked him directly because I wanted him to be as clear as possible. He said it wasn't meant for me, it was meant for Superman."
"I don't understand his obsession."
"Yeah. Me either. It's creepy."
"So what happened then?"
"I turned down his offer and told him that I didn't like that he showed up at my home unannounced and that I didn't want to owe him."
"What did he say?"
"He got in my face and told me to 'can it'."
Clark's eyebrows raised on his forehead. "He said those words?"
"Those words exactly. He said he thought it would be beneficial for me to accept the money in a vaguely threatening way. And then he told me to be 'very careful' about what I said next."
"And what did you say?"
"I told him to leave. And he did."
"Jeez. Fun guy."
"Mhm. A fun guy who knows where I live and work."
"Do you have anywhere else you can stay?"
You shook your head. "Not really." You could tell he wanted to say something but was holding back. "What?"
"Nothing."
"I can tell you're not saying something. Say it."
"Well... I know we don't really know each other that well. But I was gonna suggest - if you're comfortable with it..."
"What?"
"Nothing. Nevermind."
"Say it."
"I was gonna say that maybe I could sleep on your couch for a little bit? Make sure he doesn't break in or anything. Kind of like a bodyguard."
You furrowed your brows. "You would do that for me?"
"Only if you're comfortable with it. Like I said, we don't really know each other that well. But I wouldn't mind at all. I would consider us friends by now."
You thought about it for a moment. Clark was a large guy, you were sure that he could be rather intimidating if he wanted to be. And you considered him a friend at this point, too. You just needed to set some ground rules.
You nodded. "Okay. Sure. That would be great."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. It'll give us a chance to get to know each other better."
He couldn't help the smile that spread across his face. "Awesome." He checked the watch on his wrist and saw it was about four thirty. "I was planning on leaving early today anyways, wanna go ahead and head out? I need to stop by my apartment and get clothes, but if you don't want to join me I can just meet you at your place after."
"I don't mind. I've been cooped up in my apartment for a while. It feels nice to get out."
"Okay. Cool."
You decided to just sit on the bench outside his apartment while he went in, appreciating the fresh air for a little bit.
Once you returned to your apartment, you watched as he pulled his suit jacket off of his shoulders and hung it on the coat rack, eyeing how his shirt was just a tad tight on him.
"Do you have stuff to cook?" he asked, stepping into the kitchen with you.
"I was probably just gonna reheat the food I made last night. If that's okay."
"I could do it for you."
"Why?"
"Well, I noticed that it's your dominant hand in the sling. It can't be easy cooking with your wrong arm."
You tilted your head a bit. "You noticed that?"
"I was pretty sure."
"Very observant. If you're willing to help me, I certainly won't say no. Thank you."
"Of course."
Luckily, the food was easy to reheat. You spent the entire dinner getting to know each other better - where you both grew up, what your childhood aspirations were, how well you both got along with your parents. You talked about everything that crossed your minds, really glad you agreed to letting him crash on your couch.
After dinner, you convinced him to watch your favorite movie, to which he enthusiastically agreed.
Once bedtime came around and he'd set up his station on the couch, he made a joke about how happy he was that he didn't have to work the next day and could sleep in. You responded saying you hadn't had to get up for work in weeks and it was glorious.
He'd fallen asleep by the time you finished getting ready for bed. He didn't exactly fit on the couch, both legs hanging off the arm. He'd forgotten to take his glasses off, so you walked over and gently removed them, avoiding waking him up. He looked different, like a completely separate person.
You set them down on the coffee table next to him and headed to your room, able to see him from your bed. You couldn't help but smile at his generosity, his willingness to help a relatively new friend in such a big way.
You managed to sleep much better than you had the night before, falling asleep quickly from how tired you were.
And before you knew it, you were waking up to the smell of breakfast being cooked. You could hear bacon grease popping in a pan, and for a few seconds you'd forgotten Clark had stayed over the night before.
When you sat up, your collarbone hurt more than it typically did throughout the day, something the doctor had warned you about. You used the bathroom before wandering into the kitchen, seeing him bent over the stove and cooking.
"What are you doing?" you asked with a yawn.
"I figured I'd make you breakfast."
"You didn't have to do that."
"Why not?"
"Because you're already doing so much. I don't expect you to cook for me."
He shrugged. "I like cooking."
"I can tell."
Admittedly, it was much better than what you'd been making yourself for the last couple of weeks. Much less burnt.
"Thank you," you said as he sat your plate down in front of you on the table. He brought you a drink and silverware as well. "Can I ask you something?" you said, taking a bit of bacon.
"Shoot."
"Why are you so... nice?"
He chuckled. "What?"
"What I asked. Why are you so nice?"
He shrugged. "It's how my parents raised me."
"Are they as nice as you are?"
"You have no idea."
"Well. That's good. Refreshing." There were a few seconds of silence. "Hey, if you have something to do today, you don't have to be here all day. I was probably just gonna sit on the couch and watch movies. Same thing I've been doing."
He thought for a moment. "Why don't we go to a movie?"
You... hadn't thought about doing that. You were so tired of just sitting in your apartment yet you hadn't thought of going to an actual movie theater.
"I'm a little embarrassed to say that thought hadn't crossed my mind."
"What kind of movies do you like?"
"Horror. Sci-fi. Rom-coms."
"Well, one of those doesn't fit in there," he joked, making you laugh.
"I like most types of movies, honestly."
"So... Is that a yes?"
You nodded. "We can go after we eat if you want to."
"It's a plan."
As much as you tried to fight him, he insisted he pay for the tickets and snacks, even if it was a bit of a pretty penny.
Once the movie was over, you both exited the theater, listening to him talk about how much he liked it.
When a moment of silence struck, you filled it.
"So... Did that count as a date?"
He looked at you as he threw away the empty popcorn bag.
"What?"
"You refused to let me pay, you let me choose the movie, you even cooked for me before we came."
He thought for a moment. "I guess technically it counts, yeah. Unless you didn't have fun, then it doesn't."
You laughed at his joke, finally to the point that laughing didn't hurt.
"I did have fun. I really liked the movie."
"Good. I did too." When you got to the subway, he looked at you. "Is there anything else you wanna do while we're out?"
You shook your head. "I've got some pretty fun board games at home, though. We could do that."
"Sounds good to me."
The rest of the day went by like a flash. Even though you spent hours playing your favorite games, it was dark outside before you knew it. Eventually, you wound up sitting facing each other on the couch, just talking.
"I gotta tell you, I haven't had a day this fun in... years, probably," he said.
"Really?"
"Most of the time I'm too tired from work to really go out or do a lot. Usually when I get home I just watch tv and cook dinner."
"I thought you liked your job."
"I love it. It's just a lot. Always on the computer, always going places, always busy. There's a lot of really long days. I just wish I could take a few weeks off here and there like you have. I'm sure you've gotten a lot more rest than usual."
"Yeah. It's been nice. Admittedly, it's a bit frustrating being stuck at him and not being able to use my main hand. But it's gonna be extra hard when I go back to work. I don't have a lot of vacation days left."
"How much longer do you think you have?"
"I have to go back on Thursday next week. So less than a week."
He nodded. "That sucks."
"Tell me about it."
"You know... There's a job opening up at The Planet."
"I'm not a journalist."
"You don't have to be. There's, like, a dozen titles that don't require you to be a journalist."
"What's the position?"
"It's for a copy editor. You mentioned when I came to the diner for lunch that you're a grammar nerd. That job would be perfect for you."
"What do copy editors do?"
"They review and correct articles and stuff for grammar and spelling mistakes. We have to submit everything to them to get checked off before our articles get published. Sometimes they even check the script for the news anchors."
You thought for a moment. "Seriously?"
"Yeah! It pays, like, twenty-five starting out."
Your eyes widened. "Twenty-five... Dollars? An hour?" He nodded with a smirk. "When did the position open?"
"A couple of days ago. The Planet is really good about sick leave and stuff, and this position isn't physically demanding. You'd be working on the same floor as me, too. You get your own desk, and you spend your days just reading and correcting stuff."
You reached over on the coffee table and grabbed your laptop, putting in the passcode and handing it to Clark.
"Pull up the application."
It was Tuesday when you got a call from The Daily Planet. It was a man who identified himself as Perry White, a name you recognized from Clark talking about his boss.
Your jaw dropped when he said he wanted to offer you the job without an interview, having gotten a strong referral from a trusted employee (definitely Clark).
You accepted immediately, told to come into the office the next day for what basically was an interview, but just to meet Perry.
And you called the diner to tell them you were putting in your two week notice, but because of your injury they told you to not worry about it.
It was an ideal situation, and you were so excited you could scream.
When you arrived at your desk, you found a handwritten note from Clark.
Can't wait to be coworkers. You'll love it here.
It didn't take you long to get used to this position, you being a grammar nerd finally paying off. Getting to read all day and correct writing? Absolute dream job for you.
And for Clark. It was safe to say that he'd developed a pretty strong crush on you, even before he offered to be your bodyguard. And getting to know you over the little bit he slept on your couch, he'd fallen head over heels.
You'd be lying if you said you didn't feel the exact same way. He was so different than every other man you knew. He was genuine, kind, and effortlessly funny. And he made you feel safe. That entire time he stayed with you, he never overstepped. He never crossed a boundary, he never even stepped foot in your bedroom.
He made every other guy look like a douchebag.
And now, he's helped you get a job that was perfect for you, without asking for anything in return.
Although, you kind of wished he would. You wished he'd ask you out, that he'd make some kind of move. But he was nervous to. He didn't want to make you uncomfortable, to make you feel like you owed him for helping you.
So you decided you were going to make a move.
Once you were cleared to remove your sling and you could finally move your arm again, Lois invited you to one of the other bullpen employee's birthday parties. It wasn't anything fancy, just a get together at a pub down the street. You confirmed that Clark would be there and decided to dress up more than usual - nothing outlandish, just a nice dress and heels, something you almost never wore.
And when Clark saw you walk in? The first thing he thought of was the night you met. Lex Luthor's party gala, a tight dress, and the same heels. This dress wasn't nearly as tight, but it still looked exceptional on you.
And until you spotted him sitting at the bar, he couldn't stop staring. You just looked so good, so sexy, that he literally had to close his eyes and force himself to look away.
When you walked over, you greeted him with a friendly smile, climbing up into the chair next to him.
"Hey," you said.
"Hey."
"Sorry I'm late. How's it going so far?" He looked over at the birthday boy, who was already wasted somehow. "Has he just been chugging drinks? I'm only like half an hour late."
"Yes. He has. You only turn thirty once, I guess."
The bartender looked at you and you ordered your favorite simple drink, just like at Lex's party gala. It made him laugh a bit, and you smirked.
"What's so funny?"
"That's what you were drinking when we met, isn't it?"
"Good memory."
There were a few seconds of silence before his eyes drifted to your finally free arm.
"Hey, no sling. Congrats."
"Yeah. Thank god. I can't move my arm as much as I'd like to, but some is better than none, I guess."
You weren't much of a drinker, so when you finished that one you denied a second. Plus, you didn't much want to deal with a hangover at work the next day.
Eventually, you and Clark wound up sitting at a booth in the corner after most everyone left, sharing a rather large serving of mozzarella sticks.
You'd gotten to the point that you were in the deep conversations now.
"When was your last breakup?" you asked, taking a bite.
"Four years ago."
"Really? You haven't dated since then?"
He shook his head. "Haven't really had any interest. What about you?"
"Two years. After being together eight."
"Really? Jeez."
You scoffed. "Yeah."
"Can I ask why you broke up?"
"Just wasn't going anywhere. I tried to get him to move in with me or let me move in with him but he always just said no. I mean, technically we were basically living together most of the time, but he just refused to commit. And I need stability, you know?"
"Yeah. Me too."
"I'm surprised."
"About what?"
"The fact that you haven't dated in four years. Just seems like you'd be kind of a... ladies' man." He laughed out loud at this. "I'm serious!"
"What about me screams 'ladies' man'?"
"Oh, come on, Clark."
"What?"
You sighed. "You're a good looking guy. You're well-built, you're tall, you're literally the sweetest guy I've ever met. You take care of yourself, you have a good career, an apartment. You're well put-together. Women like that. I'm shocked you're not fighting off women like flies." He just looked at you. "I mean... Unless you're gay. Are you?"
He laughed again. "No, I'm not. Very much straight."
"I mean, it's fine if you are. I just didn't wanna assume."
"I'm not."
You leaned in a bit. "You're not offended I asked that, are you?"
"No, not at all."
"Okay, good. Then my original point stands."
"I could say the same thing about you."
"What?"
"Come on. You're a very beautiful woman, Y/N. You know that."
"Is that all it takes?"
"For most guys, yeah."
"Is that all it takes for you?"
The question seemed to catch him off guard, but he answered anyway. "No. I'm not shallow like that. I like it when women are smart, self-made, kind. I mean, beautiful is an added plus, but it's not the main thing that matters to me."
"What is?"
"A sense of humor. Intelligence. Independence. I don't like it when men dumb women down and expect her to do nothing but what he wants. You know?" You didn't answer. "Sorry. I sound like one of those guys."
"One of those guys?"
"You know what I mean. The guys who pretend to value women but only care about looks. Back home I saw a lot of divorces of older couples because the husband wanted a younger woman. And in a small town, everybody knows everybody. So it was hard seeing these women go through that. It made me sick."
You propped your chin on your palm, elbow on the table.
"You're one of the good ones, Clark. Never change."
"Don't plan to."
You just looked at each other for a moment, and you caught his eyes flashing down to your lips.
"What was that?" you asked, your voice now soft and quiet.
"What was what?" He answered like he was a child who'd just gotten caught doing something bad, but he couldn't stop himself from doing it again.
"That. You looked down at my mouth."
His cheeks were a very light shade of pink, embarrassment almost coating his body.
"I... Nothing."
"You sure?" Your eyes copied his, glancing down at his lips. It was then that the energy completely shifted between you two. "I don't think it was nothing."
He was nervous, the energy radiating off of him.
"Y/N..."
"Hm?"
It was hard to ignore how little space there was between you now, how desire was the only emotion you could feel in the moment.
You were the one who closed the gap, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. He didn't return the kiss, still nervous about being this close to you.
When you pulled away, you looked at him, his eyes conveying an emotion you couldn't quite place.
"Was that okay?" you asked.
But that was unfortunately when you were interrupted by an employee, caught off guard at the sight. They informed you that the pub was closing, realizing that they interrupted something.
When you looked back at Clark to see that he was just staring down, you practically sprinted out, not waiting for him. That employee interrupting you seemingly made you snap out of whatever trance you were in, realizing that you can't do this. Kissing a guy you'd only seen in person a few times, a guy whose number you didn't even have.
He didn't even get up for a moment, just processing that you'd kissed him. You kissed him. He had been so tempted while he stayed on your couch but talked himself out of it every time. It was too early, and he didn't want to ruin any chances he might have.
One night, you'd been rambling about the movie you'd just shown him, and you were three glasses of wine deep. But you just looked so beautiful, your face and lips puffy from the alcohol, your eyes half-closed, your hands running through your hair repeatedly. It took everything in him not to kiss you - although if you had been sober he wasn't sure he'd have been able to control himself.
And this kiss started something. But not the good kind of something. The kind where every time you saw him at work, you turned the other way and walked off. He tried so talk to you a few times, but every time you darted the other way.
And he was sick of it. He let it go on for almost a week before he lost it.
So when you returned from lunch, you felt a large hand wrap around your left bicep, pulling you into the records room - a room that was separate from the archives room, and much smaller. It still had a table and a couple of chairs, but not nearly as many files.
He closed and locked the door behind you, and the lack of windows meant the only light source were the drab and dim ceiling ones that were getting close to the end of their lifespans.
You crossed your arms, the motion still causing you a bit of pain, but nothing too bad. He mimicked your stance, standing between you and the door.
"Alright, what's going on?" he asked.
"What are you talking about?"
"You haven't spoken to me in almost a week."
"Not intentionally." You, admittedly, weren't the best liar, and he saw straight through you.
"I'm not an idiot, Y/N. I see you turn and walk away when you see me. It seems very intentional to me."
You groaned. "Is it really that big of a deal?"
"Are you serious?"
"I mean, it's not like we're besties or anything. We're just friends."
"But we're friends. Friends who used to talk every day. Heck, I slept on your couch for multiple nights. We had a good time. And now you've been ignoring me. At least tell me why."
"You know why."
He furrowed his brows. "The kiss?"
"Yeah, Clark. The kiss."
He let out a noise that could best be described as a scoff. "Last I checked, you kissed me. And now, what, you're ignoring me over something you did?"
"Yeah, Clark. I did kiss you. You, whose number I don't even have in my damn phone. The only reason I know your last name is because of your license. Do you even know mine?" You gave him a few seconds but he didn't answer. "Exactly. We barely know each other, and I kissed you. Like an idiot." You said 'idiot' louder than you meant to.
"I think we know each other pretty well at this point."
"Why, because you spent a few days with me? You don't know anything about me."
"Yes, I do."
"What's my favorite color? My favorite season? My favorite animal? Shit, do you even know what my favorite food is?" He was silent. "Yeah. Proves my point perfectly."
"I may not know that stuff but I know what the dress you wore to your senior prom looked like, and I know what type of sweets you like to eat when you watch movies, and I know what the last concert you went to was."
You scoffed. "You sound like a character straight out of a rom-com, Clark. You might as well declare your undying love for me." He was silent again, making a face as if you'd just caught him doing something he wasn't supposed to do. "Wait... Clark... Do you have feelings for me, or something?" He looked down at the floor. "Oh my god! You do!"
"Y/N-"
"You're, what, in love with me? Seriously?"
"Again, you kissed me. Are you gonna claim you don't have feelings for me now?"
"I don't know how I feel. You're nice to me, and a lot of times, that's all it takes. I can't tell if I like you or if... I don't know. I don't know how I feel."
"You clearly feel some type of way considering you-"
"I know that I kissed you. You don't need to keep bringing it up."
"Then stop ignoring me!"
You let out a sigh. "I can't do this."
"Can't do what?"
"This! Playing a 'will-they, won't-they' with you. You were too much of a coward to even kiss me back."
"Don't call me a coward."
"You just sat there! Hell, you could've convinced me you thought I was gross by the way you reacted."
"I was surprised."
"You have a funny way of showing it."
You both just stared at each other. His expression was similar to the one he had after you kissed him. You couldn't read it. You couldn't tell if it was anger, sadness, confusion, or just him not knowing what to say.
Reflexively, your eyes began to water, so you looked down. You pushed past him and left the room, and he didn't try to stop you. He just sighed to himself once he was alone, punching himself for not stopping you.
But that night, when you were sitting on the couch scrolling on your phone, you started hearing music in the hallway outside your apartment. You assumed someone was listening to it on the way to their own apartment, but when it didn't go away, you realized what song was playing.
I thought I saw your face today
But I just turned my head away
Your face against the trees
But I just see the memories
As they come, as they come
It was the song you'd had stuck in your head while Clark slept on your couch. "I Thought I Saw Your Face Today" by She & Him. It was a longtime favorite of yours, and it was a go-to when you were especially happy. It was a whimsical, earwormy song that you'd discovered when you were younger that stuck with you.
And it was the first thing Clark listened to when he got home. Just to feel like he hadn't just screwed everything up, like you were close to him.
And it was playing outside your apartment door.
And I couldn't help but fall in love again
No, I couldn't help but fall in love again
This time, it was accompanied by another voice, one you recognized as Clark.
God, it was like a romcom or something.
When you opened the door, he paused the music but kept humming for a few seconds.
"Did you learn the lyrics?"
"Most of them. You were right. It is a good song. I prefer your version, though."
You crossed your arms.
"What do you want, Clark?"
"You."
You rolled your eyes. "Alright, Mr. Darcy. Calm down."
"Not the worst comparison."
You tilted your head. "You've seen Pride and Prejudice?"
"Read it, actually. Did an essay about it in one of my college classes."
If you weren't mad at him, you would've fallen head over heels simply for that.
"Seriously. What do you want?"
"I told you. I want you."
"Little late for that."
"I'm sorry I messed up the kiss. To be completely honest, I just... I didn't think you liked me that way."
"I thought I made it decently obvious."
"Well, I'm not the best on picking up on that stuff."
"Clark, for god's sake, I made a joke about us going to the movies being a date."
"And I assumed it was a joke. I didn't realize you meant anything by it."
"Do you need me to say how I feel straight up?"
"I would appreciate it."
"Fine. I really, really like you, Clark. And I had a sliver of hope that you liked me, too, but then you didn't kiss me back or even try to catch up with me after. So I just gave up on it. I thought I made that clear earlier."
"Well, I do like you. A lot. I just... panicked."
"Then do it."
"Do what?"
"Do it. Kiss me back."
As if he was a dog performing a trick at a command, he stepped into the apartment, cupped your face with one hand, and kissed you. With his other hand at the same time, he closed the door behind him a bit harder than he meant to, before he wrapped his arms around you and lifted you off your feet.
Your thighs pressed into his waist and your ankles locked together. Your arms looped around his neck as he carried you through the apartment until you landed on your mattress on your back, sideways across the bed.
He didn't kiss you much longer though, instead positioning himself so he was on his knees against the edge of the bed, hands unbuttoning your pants. As he unzipped them, he pressed a few kisses to your stomach under your belly button.
He didn't hesitate to pull both your pants and underwear down your legs and drop them on the floor. He easily pulled your hips closer to the edge of the bed, giving himself better access. When you looked down at him was when he started pressing soft kisses to the inside of your thighs, looking up at you.
"Clark..." you breathed, running your fingers through his hair.
"Is this too fast?" You shook your head. "You have to tell me."
"No. Keep going, Clark. Please."
When he finally buried his face in you, you laid your head back down against the mattress, your back arching against him. Your fingers tangled themselves in his hair, doing your best not to tug too hard.
"Shit," you whispered.
He started out slow, drawing circles on your clit with just his tongue tip against it. It was like you turned your vibrator on the lowest setting and left it. You knew he was teasing you, getting you warmed up.
It didn't take long for him to change what he was doing, though. Flattening his tongue and using his lips to suction, your eyes crossed. It was almost too much for you, almost overwhelming.
And because of this, you felt that familiar warm tightening much quicker than you were used to. But it was too early, and you didn't want to embarrass yourself. So you did your best to hold it off, to suppress it.
He noticed. He could see it laced in your expression.
And he really wanted to hear how you sounded when you came. So he didn't ease up, he didn't slow down. He insisted that you cum right here, right now.
When you did, it was music to his ears. Instead of holding your hips down, he instead held them in place when they lifted off the bed, chasing you with his mouth instead. This was new for you, having half of your body off the bed.
Desperate gasps, needy whines, uncontrollable hips, and fingers pulling his hair - it all made him hard as a rock. And he didn't stop after one orgasm. Well, they all kind of blended together, so it was hard to know exactly how many you had, even for you. You'd wager to guess around four or five by the time you stopped him, legs weak and trembly.
"Good fucking god, Clark."
When you looked down at him, the bottom half of his face - which had a smile plastered to it - was completely soaked. He used his sleeve to wipe his skin off before he crawled up onto the bed. You grabbed onto his tie and pulled him down to kiss you, keeping a firm grip on it for a moment.
You arched your back to allow yourself to pull your shirt over your head. He reached under you and unhooked your bra with ease, and you discarded it somewhere on the floor.
He looked like he was in a trance, eyes glued to your chest. When he leaned his head down to kiss the skin, you stopped him with a hand to his forehead.
"I'm completely naked here and you haven't even taken off your tie." You loosed the tie as you said this, tossing it over your head. "That doesn't seem very fair to me."
Your hands slid under his jacket, pushing it down his arms. When he sat up on his knees to pull it the rest of the way off, you sat up a bit and pulled his shirt out of his trousers, noticing the tent in his pants.
As he unbuttoned his shirt, you undid his pants and slowly pulled them down with his briefs, his dick springing free.
It was a bit intimidating. He was larger than you were expecting, and you could tell on his face that he was nervous.
Before you had a chance to wrap your hand around his length, he pushed himself off the bed and got to his feet. He kicked his shoes off before dropping his pants, leaving him completely nude.
Goddamn, he was hot. It almost made your legs tremble more than they already were.
"Condoms are in the nightstand," you said, mouth suddenly dry.
He nodded before sliding the drawer open and fishing through your collection of condoms, finding the right size. Watching him open it with his teeth and slide it on, his hand gliding down his dick, it made you gently bite the inside of your cheek.
As he returned to the bed, crawling back up your body, his hands made sure to drift across your skin, sending chills up your spine. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders as he kissed you, his hips spreading your thighs wider than you thought possible.
"Y/N," he said softly. He pulled back so he could look at you, using his left hand to tuck your hair behind your ear.
"Clark."
"I'm sorry. For everything. I should've told you how I felt earlier. I thought..."
"You thought what?"
"I thought I ruined everything. That I'd never get this chance." You cupped his cheek with your hand, stroking the skin with your thumbs. "I should've kissed you back."
"I shouldn't have kissed you. It wasn't the right time."
"It was. I'm just an idiot."
"No. Don't do that. You're not an idiot."
"I should've made a move sooner."
"You did now. And that's all that matters."
He looked at you, a small smile forming on his mouth.
"I love you," he whispered, anxiety heavy on his voice.
You froze for a moment, feeling your cheeks and chest get warm.
"You do?"
He nodded. "You don't have to say it back, I just wanted you to know."
"I do. I love you, too."
Another smile. "You're not just saying that because I said it, are you?"
You shook your head. "I love you."
He kissed you in a way he hadn't kissed you yet. It was extra slow, extra firm. You reached down and wrapped your fingers around his dick, making him sigh into your mouth.
You slowly - so, so slowly - stroked him, and you could feel him balling the sheets under you.
"Fuck me, Clark," you said into the kiss, your language catching him a bit off guard.
He kissed you as he sunk into you, both of you letting out a deep moan. Once he was completely settled into you, hips against yours, you threw your head back. You'd never been this stretched out, feeling like he was going to tear straight through you.
"Fuck," you whispered, his lips pressing gentle kisses to your throat.
"Is that okay?" he asked, not moving until he got confirmation.
"Mm-hm."
"Hey, look at me." You did as told, opening your teary eyes. "Are you okay?"
"You're just a lot bigger than I'm used to. I just need to get used to you."
"Promise you'll tell me to stop if it's too much?"
"Promise."
Good god. He was touching places inside of you that had never been touched. It was almost too much. Almost.
Noises came out of you that you didn't even know you could make, and combined with the sounds coming from below, he could barely concentrate.
And you needed a change in position.
"Clark," you said, and he worried that he was hurting you.
"Yeah?"
"I wanna be on top."
This made his heart pound. He'd never had a woman on top of him before. It would be a first for him, and it made him nervous.
"Are you sure?"
You nodded. "Put your head on the pillow."
He pulled out of you and you suddenly felt empty, like he was meant to be there the whole time.
Once you had him back inside of you, your hands braced themselves on his ribs, right under his pecs. He looked so vulnerable from this angle, so submissive. And his large hands on your thighs helped guide you in your movements.
But he didn't stay laying down for long. He sat up a moment later and wrapped his arms around your body. He reached up and pressed your shoulder blades closer to him, kissing you as you ground into him.
One of your forearms laid slanted across his shoulder blades to brace yourself, your other hand tangling itself into the hair on the back of his head.
"Mm, fuck," you whispered, grinding your hips much quicker than you thought you'd have been able to.
He didn't know what to do with his hands since he wasn't using them to hold himself up. Should he grip your thighs? Your back? Your sides? Your ass?
But he could tell you were struggling to keep the rhythm you'd established. And to be completely truthful, you weren't exactly used to it either. You weren't normally on top, and the times you had been were with a much smaller dick.
So without warning, he wrapped his arms around you and rolled you back onto your back. You weren't on top of him for very long, but with how difficult it was becoming to keep bouncing, you didn't mind at all.
You pulled your thighs closer to your body to give him more space and the change of how deep he could go was immediate. The sounds that escaped you also changed, and it made him smile at you.
"You're so beautiful," he said softly, tracing your cheekbone with his thumb. "You're my dream girl."
You grabbed his face tightly, pulling his forehead down to touch yours. Your eyes screwed shut tightly and your head tipped back as you came one more time, his lips latching onto your jaw like a suckerfish.
And the squeezing? It was too much for him. He didn't feel his orgasm creep up on him, so when he also came, it was explosive, and it was loud.
Neither of you moved. Your breathing was labored, shaky. And his entire body was trembling.
"Oh my gosh," he whispered into your skin. You gently lifted his head to look at him.
"Are you okay?"
He nodded. "That wasn't... too fast, or anything, was it? Usually I last much longer. But you... I couldn't."
You smirked, the idea of you feeling so good that he finished way earlier than usual making you feel good about yourself.
"No, it wasn't too fast. It was nice."
This made him smile back at you. "Yeah?"
You nodded. "Yeah."
"Good. You deserve it."
The rest of the night was spent with the two of you ordering a pizza and just talking - about nothing, and about everything. He just had such an easy aura, like you'd known each other your whole lives. And he looked at you like you were newlyweds.
He didn't kiss you much different, either. He never stopped kissing you like it would be the last time, and it didn't matter where you were. At work, at home, in public. He didn't think he could ever stop making up for his lack of kissing you back in that booth, so he decided to make sure you knew how much he loved and absolutely adored you.
FIC REQUEST: Clark won't have sex with you and eventually he breaks and confesses it's because he thinks he's a bad omen and he's afraid that he's bad in bed and that's why the relationships always end, and he's terrified of things ending between the two of you. Pls don't include yall actually having sex but DO include the before and after! Thankies
clark kent x reader
word count | 1.2k
warnings | 18+ mdni recommended (this doesn't have smut but there are mentions of past sexual encounters so it's really just up to you), vague descriptions of sex, swearing
˗ˏˋ masterlist ˎˊ˗
Tonight was the night. You were finally, finally going to convince Clark to take your relationship to the next level. It'd already been four months since your first date and three months since you made it official, and you'd practically begged for it more times than you could count.
But somehow, every single time, he managed to find a way out of it. And it would be one thing if he wasn't ready or just wasn't in the mood. But you could tell he was forcing himself to stop. You could tell that he did want to. But he wouldn't tell you what was keeping him from doing it. He would just gently remove you from his lap, apologize, kiss you, and leave without another word, and it hurt your feelings. Bad.
The first time, he told you he didn't want to rush. And that was perfectly fine with you.
The second time, he told you the same thing. And again, you were totally fine with that.
The third time, he said he needed to go home and finish an article. You were less fine with that, but it was still early enough in the relationship that you didn't want to argue.
The fourth time was when he stopped explaining. He just shook his head, placed you on the couch cushion next to him, pressed a kiss to your cheek, grabbed his things, and walked out. You were confused, wondering if you did something wrong.
And every time since then, that's what he did. Shook his head, apologized, kissed you, put you down, and left.
He wouldn't even tell you what was going on, he just left.
So tonight, if he didn't want to do anything, you were at least going to coax an explanation from him. Because you could tell that he was keeping something from you.
And you looked especially good tonight. Tight tank top showing your arms and chest and arguably too short of shorts. And the sight nearly took his breath away when you opened the door to let him in.
You accentuated your cleavage as the two of you ate dinner at the table, using your elbows to press your boobs together.
And, like clockwork, you ended up on his lap, hands on his shoulders, hips squeezed by his thick fingers.
"Clark," you mumbled into his mouth, to which you received a 'hm?' "Take me to the bed."
You could almost hear his pulse pick up.
"Y/N," he grimaced. "I can't tonight."
You sat back and sighed. "You can't every night."
And, just like every time, he did what he did every time. Once he had his jacket on, you followed him down the hall and stayed about ten feet back from him. And when he had the front door cracked open, you let the words you were holding back slip out.
"Are you not attracted to me?" you asked, crossing your arms. He froze and closed the door back, setting his stuff down on the floor.
"What?"
"Because if you're not, then can we stop doing... whatever this is?"
"Who said I wasn't attracted to you?"
"We've been seeing each other for four months now, Clark. And every time we get even a little bit intimate, you make up some bullshit excuse to leave. And you know, the first few times, I believed you when you said you wanted to take it slow. But now... It's been so long. And you haven't told me why you won't have sex with me. So if you're not attracted to me... We need to end this."
"I am attracted to you."
"Then why won't you have sex with me?"
He sighed. "It's not you, it's-"
"'It's not you, it's me'? Yeah. I've heard that one before."
"It's true. It is me."
You scoffed. "Yeah. I'm sure. Just go, Clark. Go home."
"No, just listen-"
"I don't care. I don't. Clearly we want different things. So go home."
As you began to turn away, you heard him blurt out, "I'm cursed."
You turned back to face him, eyebrows dipped down.
"You're cursed."
He nodded. "Look... I've done the beginning of a relationship a few times. And, like it's fate, it always ends right after we have sex for the first time. Every time. I've waited a month, I've waited a few weeks, and I've even done it on the first date."
This made you raise your eyebrows. You can't imagine Clark having sex on the first date. He just seemed like the kind of guy who needed to really connect before taking that step.
He continued, "And every time, no matter what, it's the last time we see each other. I always get a text that she's lost interest or something. And I don't think it's a coincidence. So it is me. I'm cursed."
"So, what? You think you're bad in bed or something?"
"That's what it seems like. I do my best, but I don't think it's good enough. And I really like you. Probably more than I should this soon into this. And I'm afraid... I'm afraid that we're gonna do it, and it won't be good for you, and you'll break it off. I don't think I can handle that, Y/N. I really don't."
You sighed. "You know, every woman is different. We all like different things."
"I know. I'm just... I'm worried I'm just not good. In bed. And that I won't be able to please you."
"I mean... You just have to try different stuff." You walked over to him. "Trial and error. But you have to be willing to try."
"I am. But the thought of it causing us to break up-"
"Clark. I like you for you. And if you are bad in bed, I'm willing to help you get better. But you have to give me a chance. Please? I've been practically throwing myself at you- begging you for it this whole time."
He took a deep breath before you pulled him down for a kiss, and he reached down to scoop you up, carrying you into the bedroom.
-
Twenty minutes had passed since your back hit the bed. You were drenched in a thick sheen of sweat, your legs trembling, and your lungs working overtime.
"Jesus, Clark," you said when you caught your breath. He looked over at you, eyebrows raised. "I don't know why those women ended things with you, but I'd be willing to bet it's not because of your skills in bed."
"So it's my personality?"
You chuckled. "Maybe they just didn't feel a connection. Because if you were fucking like that with all of them, I can't imagine they'd be willing to end a relationship over that."
He let out a sigh of relief. "You have no idea how good it is to hear that. I've spent so long thinking I was just unable to please anyone."
You rolled onto your side and propped yourself on your elbow, looking down at him. He reached up and pushed your hair out of your face, then cupping your cheek with his thumb right below your eye.
"You're so pretty," he whispered.
You kissed him before mounting him again, his hands on your thighs.
"Think you can go for round two?" you asked softly, kissing his jaw.
plus size reader and eddie lose your virginities to each other
eddie munson x reader
word count | 4.5k
warnings | 18+ mdni, plus size virgin!female reader, virgin!eddie, reader hits eddie with her car, mentions of bullying, swearing, oral (f receiving), fingering, p in v sex, losing of virginities
˗ˏˋ masterlist ˎˊ˗
The way you and Eddie met wasn't very traditional, and it wasn't very romantic. In fact, it was probably the least romantic possible way to meet someone.
You hit him with your car.
Not intentionally. And not even very fast, either. Not fast enough to seriously hurt him.
You'd had a really bad day. Failed a math test, got harassed by the basketball team, forgot your chemistry homework, and forgot your lunch, so you wound up just going hungry. You ended up having a breakdown in the bathroom after dismissal, and you waited to leave until most other people were gone too. It felt like the world was out to get you today, so you were distracted.
When you got to the parking lot, you were so upset that you backed out of your parking spot faster than you meant to, and you'd forgotten to look behind you before you did. So when you felt a thud and heard what sounded like a skull hit the back windshield, followed by the thud of a body hitting the ground, you gasped and froze for a few seconds before putting the car in park.
"Oh my god, are you okay?" you asked, rushing over to him. Papers were scattered, an open textbook laying pages down on the concrete that was wet from the rain. "I'm so sorry."
He groaned and you squatted down next to him before he rolled onto his back, immediately falling silent when he laid his eyes on you.
"Are you okay?" you repeated, afraid to touch him. But he didn't answer. He just looked at you, studying your face. You were red as a tomato, hands shaking and awkwardly hovering over him. "You're the only one in the parking lot and I somehow manage to hit you. God."
"It's okay. I'm okay."
"Are you sure? Here, let me help you up."
He quickly shook his head. "Just gonna lay here for a second. Not because I'm in pain. Just because I want to."
"Really? Because it seems like you're in pain."
"What? No, I'm good. I'm good. I just like the concrete. Feels good on my back."
"Please let me help you up. I can drive you to the hospital."
"No, no hospital. Aspirin will be enough."
He lifted a hand for you to grab, and you gently pulled him to his feet. He stood stiffly, like he was in severe pain.
"You sure no hospital? You look like you're really hurt."
"You didn't hit me that hard. I'll be fine. I promise."
You gave him an unsure look before you started gathering his things, including the wet textbooks that you cringed while closing.
"I think I ruined your book."
"Well, good thing I don't have to pay for it." He gave you a kind smirk, a look you weren't used to receiving. "I barely use it anyway."
When you stood back up, you accidentally stepped on his foot, gasping as you did.
"Well, I just can't stop hurting you, I guess."
He just looked at you for a moment.
"Eddie."
"Y/N."
"So do you normally hit people with your car?" You groaned. "You're not crying because of this, are you?"
"Crying?" You realized the breakdown you had earlier must still be apparent on your face. Your eyes always swelled up when you cried. "Oh, no, that's not from this. I've had a... not so good day today. This definitely didn't help, but it's not from this."
"What happened? To make you have a not good day? If you don't mind me asking."
"Ugh, nothing. Seriously, I've already burdened you enough with this, you don't need to hear me rant about my day."
"I don't mind. You seem like you could use someone to talk to."
You sighed. "Well, I failed my last math test, and I'm barely passing the class as is. And then I forgot my chemistry homework at home, so I'm probably getting an F for that. Then the assholes on the basketball team were doing what they do best and harassing me."
"Over what?"
You hesitated, not wanting to dump everything on this poor guy.
"Same thing as always. My weight."
He looked you up and down. "Seriously?"
You nodded. "Real unoriginal. And then on top of that I forgot my lunch at home and I didn't have enough money to eat cafeteria food, so I have nothing but water in my stomach. I know it's not the worst stuff in the world, but all of it kind of just stacked up and I broke down. And now I hit you with my car, and it's just... ugh. I really can't apologize enough."
"You already have. Seriously, I'm fine. I think it was hitting the ground that hurt worse."
"There has to be a way for me to make it up to you. Please."
He thought for a moment. "Okay. Sure. Let me take you to dinner."
Your eyebrows dipped down. "Wait, what?"
"Tonight. Let me get you dinner."
"I hit you with my car and you want to take me to dinner? Did you hit your head?"
He shrugged. "You piqued my interest."
"I don't know..."
"You said you wanted to make it up to me. That's my condition."
You chuckled. "Uh... Okay, sure. If you insist."
"How about Enzo's?"
"The fancy restaurant that costs and arm and a leg? No, seriously. That's too much. Just a diner is fine with me."
"Alright, alright. The new Waffle House. Seven o'clock."
You nodded. "See you then."
"Cool." He tried to walk away smoothly but was obviously still hurting a bit, and you tried to hide your chuckle but it slipped out a bit as you got back into the car.
He was infatuated with you from the moment he looked at you. The way your hair framed your face, the way your shirt was just a bit too tight on your chest, and the slight rasp in your voice.
So for half of the dinner, he was just distracted by your face, how your features blended together so perfectly. How the skin around your eyes crinkled when you smiled. You were so pretty, and honestly he didn't even mind the pain from getting hit by a car if it meant he got to sit across from you for an hour or two.
"What?" you asked, breaking him out of the trance he was in. His chin was propped in his hand and his other elbow sat lazily on the table in front of him. He hadn't been listening to your story about how much you hated your middle school biology teacher because he was so distracted.
He raised his eyebrows and cleared his throat. "What?"
"You were staring."
"No I wasn't."
"Mm. Pretty sure you were."
He shook his head. "Nope."
"What's the last thing I said?"
"Uhh... Frog dissection?"
You shook your head. "What were you staring at?"
Without hesitation, he answered, "You."
"You know, I don't get you, Eddie. I mean, I literally hit you with my car. I hurt you. Pretty badly. And now you're taking me on a date and not listening because you're too busy looking at me. Are you, like, a masochist or something?"
"Maybe for a pretty girl."
You put your fork down. "You think I'm pretty?"
"Should I not?"
"I don't know. Just don't hear that very often."
"The guys on the basketball team are dickheads. They like to pick on people."
"Do they do it to you?"
"Oh, all the time. Jason, the captain, he likes to call me freak and shit. He eggs them on. And if they're picking on someone as pretty as you, they're just doing it to get a rise out of you. I know it's easier said than done, but try not to let it get to you. They're just popular and rich and want to make everyone else's lives miserable." You smiled. "I like your smile."
"Do you?"
"Mhm. I like how it makes the skin around your eyes crinkle up."
"Oh, really? A lot of women hate those."
"Shame. I think they're adorable."
This date led to a second, and then a third, and before you knew it, it had been a full month. Two or three dates per week, flowers, and so many kisses you thought he would suffocate you.
And tonight, you wanted to take the first big step in your relationship: staying the night with the other. Your mom was working the night shift, so it would be perfect.
He nearly felt his heart leap out of his chest when you called and asked if he would be interested. A full night alone with you? How could he possibly say no? The only condition was that he would help you study for an upcoming geography test.
You handed him your stack of index cards, and he looked at you like you were crazy.
"What? You said you'd help?"
"How many cards are there here?"
"Two hundred."
"Y/N, I seriously doubt that the test is gonna have anywhere close to that amount of questions."
"Yeah, so do I. But the teacher gives us a bunch of questions to study and then he chooses random ones to ask. I don't know which of those questions are gonna be on it."
He sighed. "Two hundred questions and then you're done?"
"And then I'm done."
He nodded. "Alright. Two hundred. That's not so bad."
Safe to say, you didn't finish the index cards. You wound up getting off topic and stayed off topic, talking about whatever crossed your minds. Eventually, you got to talking about friends, family, and past relationships, which neither of you had.
"You know, I was worried that this whole relationship thing would be way harder than it is," you said.
"I mean, you would know, right?" he asked nonchalantly.
"What?"
"Oh, don't tell me you've never done this before." He casually straightened your card pile as he said this.
"I haven't."
He looked at you. "What?"
"What?"
"Oh, you're bullshitting me."
"No, I'm not."
"You've never been in a relationship?"
You shook your head. "Have you?"
"Nope."
"Seriously?"
"Hey, I didn't judge you, don't judge me."
"I'm not judging. It's just... You're a musician. You have tattoos and you have long hair and you wear a leather jacket. You're a... bad boy. I'm just surprised, is all."
"You think I'm a bad boy?"
"Well, you fit the stereotype. You're just missing a motorcycle."
"So... I was your first kiss?"
"Was I yours?"
"No, I had mine in middle school. Playing spin the bottle."
"Well, that doesn't count."
"No? Why not?"
"Because you wouldn't have kissed whoever it was in another circumstance."
"Well, actually, I had kind of a big crush on her."
"Then I stand corrected. But still. It doesn't count."
"Well, if it doesn't count, then yes, you were my first kiss."
You smiled. "Cool."
"You never played spin the bottle or anything?"
"No, but I was in the room when other kids did. Turns out middle schoolers don't want to kiss the fat kids."
"I do."
"So... you think I'm fat?"
You saw panic flash in his eyes. "What? No, that's- I didn't mean that. That's not what I meant- I think you're beautiful."
"What, fat people can't be beautiful?"
"No- No! That's not what I mean. I just- I meant-"
"Eddie, I'm just fucking with you. Calm down," you laughed. He let out a sigh of relief. "It's okay. I know I'm not small. I've tried really hard to come to terms with it and for the most part I have. At least, when I don't have people yelling it at me. I'm fine with just being the fat girl. It's okay if you think I am as long as it's not mean."
He scooted closer to you. "I think you're perfect."
"Well, that's a little bit of an exaggeration. Nobody's perfect."
"Except you."
You rolled your eyes sarcastically. "If you say so."
He leaned in and kissed you, his hands sliding down to your hips, then to the tops of your thighs.
"So if neither of us had our first kiss before, does that mean we're both... you know," you said.
"What?"
"Virgins?"
"Are you?" You nodded. "Then yeah. We are."
"Have you ever watched porn?"
That question came out of left field, and you could tell he didn't expect it. But before you could take it back, he answered.
"Not intentionally. One time my cousin brought his tapes with him when he came to visit and he'd accidentally brought one he'd taped over with porn. I tried to watch Paper Moon but I got a close up shot of full bush instead. Not that I hated it, I just didn't expect it. It was a bit jarring."
"Oh, god," you cringed.
"What about you?"
"No, but I snooped through my cousin's nudie mags once out of curiosity. She had a bunch of Playgirls. I think I was too young to understand porn so it didn't really do anything for me, but it was the first time I ever saw anyone naked."
"It's always the cousins."
"Tell me about it."
"Do you want to lose it? Your virginity?"
"Do you?"
He nodded. "Hopefully with you. Whenever you want to. I'm not pushing you or anything. Just whenever you're ready."
You smiled. "You're not like the other boys in Hawkins."
"No?"
"Mm-mm. You're nice. And you're patient. It's like a breath of fresh air."
"You're different from the other girls, too. You don't think I'm a freak."
You reached up and tucked his hair behind his ear. "Who said I don't think you're a freak?" you joked, making him smirk. "Even if you were, it's not a bad thing. At least it would make you unique compared to the other guys in this town."
"Unique is good." You could tell he wasn't even paying attention to what you were saying. He was doing the same thing he did on your first date. He was distracted by how pretty you were. He couldn't stop staring.
"Eddie," you whispered.
"Hm?"
"You're doing it again."
"I'm not sorry this time. I could stare at you forever."
"You're such a dork."
"Mhm."
The energy in the room had shifted entirely. You felt like your bones were on fire, itching for him.
"Eddie?"
"Yeah."
"I want to."
"Want to what?"
"You know."
"Oh. Really?"
You nodded. "I trust you."
"Even if I don't know what I'm doing?"
"We'll figure it out together."
Your kindness and patience were new to him. You really were one of a kind.
"You're sure about this?"
Another nod from you. "I've been sure for a while. I just wanted to find a good opportunity. And we have the house to ourselves for the night. It doesn't seem like we'll have a better chance."
He took a deep breath. "Take your shirt off," he gently commanded. Not in a bossy way, almost like he was nervous. Like he didn't know what he was doing, but you were okay with it.
"Nobody's seen me without a shirt in... I don't know how long."
His hands found their way back to the tops of your thighs, softly running up and down the skin.
"You know I won't judge you."
You took a soft breath before you pulled your shirt over your head, and his eyes widened when he realized you weren't wearing a bra. Your chest was completely exposed to him, and you looked so deliciously beautiful that he felt like a pig not being able to look away.
He noticed that you were overcorrecting your posture, trying to avoid the rolls that formed on your stomach when you sat naturally.
"Y/N, what are you doing?"
"What?"
"You don't look comfortable. The way you're sitting. Just relax, it's okay."
As you slouched to a comfortable position, you crossed your arms over your stomach as a nervous habit, but he reached over and pulled them away.
"Why are you trying to hide from me?"
"I don't like my boobs."
"What's not to like? Boobs are boobs."
"They point outward. Like they're cross eyed."
"All boobs are good boobs. Even if they point different directions." He looked down at them. "It's not noticeable. I'm staring straight at them and don't really see it."
"Really?"
"They look like normal boobs to me. And they're attached to you, so even better."
You smiled. "Your turn."
Without hesitation, he removed his shirt, revealing his tattoos. You'd already seen multiple, but there were a couple that you hadn't gotten a look at yet, and you were sure there were more on his back.
"Wow," you said, reaching over and using your fingers to stroke the tattoos. "They really suit you."
"Yeah?"
You nodded. "How did you get them? You're not old enough."
"Some of them were done in some guy's basement. The other ones my uncle signed off for."
"Mm."
"Do you want any at some point?"
"Yeah, but I don't know what. I've got a while to figure it out, though."
"Hey, I know a guy who has a pretty cool basement," he joked, making you chuckle.
"Maybe I'll take you up on that."
After a few seconds of silence, you reached over and grabbed his hands, pulling them up to cup your breasts. He took a deep breath at this, this being the first time he'd ever touched boobs.
"It's even better than I imagined," he said, completely genuinely.
You pulled him closer to you, kissing him firmly but gently. He continued the motion, helping you slide down the mattress so your head was on the pillow and he was on top of you, hips between your thighs.
Your hands explored his back, eventually settling right above the waistline of his pants, fingertips under the cloth. He briefly sat up on his knees, undoing his pants and wiggling out of them. He was wearing a pair of green plaid boxers, and he already had a sizeable tent in them.
"Y/N?" he asked when he returned to eye level with you.
"Yeah?"
"I just... I don't want to disappoint you. I might not last very long."
"That's okay. Most guys don't, right?"
"I think so. But I still want to make sure you enjoy it and feel good."
"I will."
"But you won't if it's over right away."
"Well, it's not like that's the only thing that there is to do."
"Very true."
"Just do whatever you think will be fun. I trust you."
He leaned back down but pressed his lips to your neck instead of your mouth, the feeling of his tongue against your jugular almost making your hips twitch. It elicited a moan from you, and he swore he almost came in his pants just from that. That one tiny sound.
"Sorry," you laughed.
"Don't apologize. That's what I want to hear."
He continued doing exactly what he did, swirling his tongue against the skin and driving you crazy. All kinds of whines and moans tumbled from your mouth, and after a moment he had to stop so he could make sure he lasted longer than five seconds.
He reached down and untied your sweatpants, immediately sliding his hands into your underwear.
Either he was a natural or he did research, but his fingers immediately found your clit like it was magnetized. You couldn't stop the whine that came out of you, instinctively throwing your head back and closing your eyes.
"Shit," you whispered, one hand grabbing his arm.
"Baby, you're soaked," he said. You were sure this was something you would hear in porn, but he didn't mean it like that. He meant it genuinely, like he was surprised he turned you on that much.
"And you're hard as a rock," you said, not even needing to look. You could feel it a moment ago, pressing against you when he finally had you under him. "That feels really good, Eddie," you breathed.
"I know something that will feel better, if you let me."
"I told you I trust you."
He slowly pulled both your pants and underwear down your legs, kissing the skin as he did.
He settled onto his stomach, your thighs propped up on his shoulders. His hands rested on either side of your belly button, attempting to control your squirming as best he could.
"You look so hot from this angle," he said, eyes locked into how your face looked between your breasts.
'Hot' was a new one. He'd called you everything else: pretty, beautiful, gorgeous, perfect. But he'd saved hot. Maybe for this exact moment.
Before you had a chance to respond, he had his lips around your clit and his tongue pressed flat against it. You let out the most dramatic yet genuine gasp you'd ever produced, this new sensation almost being too much to handle.
Your right hand immediately balled his hair, your left hand gripping the blanket under you.
"Oh, shit, Eddie. That feels really good."
He smiled to himself at this, hips involuntarily grinding into the bed. You did wonder if he did research, maybe checking out a book at the library. Because for a virgin, he was already skilled.
And from him fingering you just a moment earlier, you could feel your orgasm swiftly approaching. Both of your hands were in his hair now, tangling it into a bit of a bird's nest.
"Shit, Eddie, I'm- I'm gonna-"
You couldn't even finish your sentence before your entire body tensed up, your hips rising and falling.
Good fucking god, the sounds coming out of you were something else. He'd never heard anything like it, not expecting them from you. Desperate, needy whines, moans, and cries bounced off the walls, and it was too much for him.
He kissed your left thigh as he watched you catch your breath, eyes closed and jaw open. That was nothing like your own fingers.
"Eddie," you breathed.
"Hm?"
"Get up here."
"We may have to continue another night," he said, embarrassment laced in his voice.
You looked down at him, propping yourself up on your elbows.
"How come?"
He sat up on his knees and you noticed a large wet spot on his boxers. His entire body went red, not even wanting to look at you. You sat up and looked back up at him.
"Oh, Eddie," you said, reaching out for his hands. "It's okay."
"It's humiliating."
"Why?"
"Because. It is."
"I don't think less of you or anything if that's what you're worried about."
"How can you not?"
"I think it's sweet."
"Seriously?"
You nodded. "This isn't our last night together. We're gonna have way more chances to do this."
"But I wanted us to do it tonight."
"I know. But it's not a big deal to do it another night. You're still staying, we're still gonna sleep together."
"You're really not... like... grossed out or something?"
You shook your head. "Of course not."
He leaned forward and kissed you. "I don't deserve you."
It was another two weeks before you got the chance to try again. His uncle finally gave in and let him invite you to stay the night when he was gone at work, and he jumped at the opportunity.
Him being in his own room - maybe it would make him more comfortable, ensure that he didn't cum in his pants just from hearing the sounds you make.
And he didn't. In fact, he was able to give you two orgasms this time. He wanted to go for three, but you couldn't take it. And the lighting from the tv illuminated you in such a way that every curve of your body was visible in a different way than before.
He'd practiced putting a condom on this time so he didn't embarrass himself, and when he looked at you, your half-lidded and tired eyes only made you look even more beautiful than before.
"Eddie," you whispered as he returned to your lips to kiss you.
"Hm?"
"Don't push yourself, okay? Like I said, we'll have more chances to do more and get better at it. I want it to be good for you, too. Promise me?"
He nodded. "I promise." He kissed you for a moment, only breaking when he reached down to finger you and your hips bucked, both of you chuckling. "Are you ready?"
You nodded. "Yes, Eddie, I'm ready."
You moaned in sync with each other, feeling stretched beyond your max. Your hands squeezed his forearms, head tipping back a bit.
"Shit," he whispered. "You feel really good."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. So warm."
He didn't move for a moment, deciding just to kiss you for a moment. When he did eventually move, you couldn't hold back the moan his next thrust elicited.
His hands snaked down to the backs of your thighs, pushing your legs closer to your chest. It made it a bit harder to breathe, but he gave himself better and deeper access to you, and that was all you could focus on.
"Oh god," you whined, and that was when he realized that this was a really bad time to have put you in that position. As soon as you squeezed him, he busted into the condom, a deep moan ripping through him.
"Goddamnit," he said, slowly lowering your legs. "I should've waited to do that."
"It's okay," you smiled, your hands running up and down his sides. "Gives us something to look forward to for next time."
"Next time," he said with a smile. "You're still willing to give me a next time? I feel like it's been disappointing so far." He pulled out of you and sat on the edge of the bed, grabbing a tissue and using it to clean himself up after he removed the condom, tossing it into the trash can.
You sat up, placing your legs criss cross in front of you.
"Eddie, baby, stop it. You're too harsh on yourself. First times are always about figuring it out." You ran your nails gently up and down his back, something he'd come to really love. "I told you you have to start giving yourself some grace."
"I just hate disappointing you."
"You're not. I promise." You rested your cheek against his shoulder and he lifted his arm over you, waiting for you to scoot a bit closer so he could wrap it around you. Your arms hooked around his ribs and he pressed a kiss to your forehead. "You're trying, that's all that matters. Maybe if you didn't care I would be disappointed. But you do care. You can't disappoint me if you're trying."
He leaned his head back a bit to look at you.
"You really are my dream girl, you know that?" He leaned down to kiss you, not wanting to pull away. "How did I get so lucky?"
"You stood in front of my car when I reversed." This made him laugh.
"I'd do it again a hundred times if it meant I got to keep you."
Plus size reader fic where you and Steve secretly have feelings for each other so every time he starts dating a new girl, you get jealous. But you're good at hiding it. So he doesn't find out until you basically explode and you get into a fight over the feelings you have for each other/
steve harrington x reader
word count | 9k
warnings | plus size!reader, jealous!reader, mutual pining, swearing, brief mention of sex but no smut, bullying, alcohol, arguing
a/n | realizing a massive plot mistake after this got a bunch of notes is awesome i love it so much
˗ˏˋ masterlist ˎˊ˗
You remembered when Steve started dating his girlfriend. Danielle was her name. The first time you met her, you were convinced she wasn't real. She was drop dead gorgeous, almost too gorgeous. She had a perfect body, beautiful green eyes, hair that framed her face just perfectly - hell, even her teeth were perfect.
And you were nervous around her. Girls who looked like her didn't tend to be nice to girls who looked like you. You knew you were big, and you knew there was a very obvious difference between you and her.
And it only confirmed your fear: Steve Harrington would never be into you. He had a type. Nancy Wheeler was thin, every girl he'd ever been with was thin. But it wasn't just the girls he dated, it was hookups, too. Every single one. No way any of them were over a hundred and forty pounds.
But all these years, you'd held out hope that he would show interest in you. Ten years of holding out hope that he could possibly think of you as more than a best friend.
So you bit your tongue and pushed the feeling deep, deep down. You third-wheeled with them whenever he asked you to join whatever they were doing, desperately wishing he would start making time for you again. You knew that was a horrible thing to say, that she was a priority now. But all you wanted was your best friend again, the Steve you loved and missed.
And he began to notice. He'd call to ask you to join them at a movie, you would tell him you had to work late. Come swimming at his house? You had homework. Join them for dinner? You had family obligations.
But what you didn't know was that she was tired of him inviting you on every single date, of him including you in things that should've been the two of them.
So she started doing the same. Making excuses not to join him places.
And as much as you hated to admit it, you weren't upset about it. You weren't upset in the slightest.
But you could tell something was off with him when he picked you up for a drive-in movie that he was supposed to bring Danielle to, just the two of them.
Little did you know, they'd gotten into a fight right before he'd called you a second time to try to convince you to go.
When he called the first time to see if you'd be interested in joining them, she let out an audible sigh. You said no, told them to go ahead themselves, but when he put the phone down, he looked at her.
"What was that?"
"What?"
"That sigh. What was that?"
"Nothing."
"Okay, well, it seemed like something. You obviously wanted me to hear it."
"It's just... I know she's your friend and you like having her around. But the whole point of dating someone is that you do stuff alone with them. You know, dates. She doesn't need to third-wheel with us everywhere. It's insulting to her. And to me."
"It's not insulting to include my best friend in things we do. I hate how much she's alone."
"Well, maybe there's a reason for that."
"What?"
"Come on, Steve. It's an elephant in the room at this point."
"What is?"
"You know exactly what I'm talking about. Maybe if she lost a little weight and, I don't know, took care of herself-"
"Woah, what the hell?"
"What?"
"Are you serious?"
"Yeah, Steve."
He scoffed. Which she took offense to.
"You know, I think you should go home."
She raised her eyebrows. "Are you serious?"
"I'm not having this conversation with you, Danielle. I'll take Y/N to the movie instead. Go home."
And she did. She stormed out of his house, slamming the door on the way out. That was when he called you back, telling you it would just be the two of you, that something came up and she couldn't make it. You eagerly agreed, and he told you he'd be by in a few minutes to pick you up.
Once you were both situated at the drive-thru with popcorn buckets in your laps, you looked at him. You could tell something was up, as he was never good at hiding when he was upset. He was zoned out, not even looking at the screen.
"Steve?" you asked, getting his attention.
"What's up?"
"Are you okay?"
"Hm? Yeah, of course. Why?"
"You seem off."
"No, I'm good."
"You know you can talk to me if something's bothering you, right?"
He sighed. "I think me and Danielle are done."
"What?"
"We had an argument before I left, and I told her to leave."
"Over what?"
He shook his head. "Nothing."
"Well, if it's important enough that you're ending the relationship, it's clearly not nothing."
"It's just... we're not meant to be. And that's clear. I don't want to be with someone I'm not meant to be with."
"You're really not gonna tell me what the argument was over?"
He took a deep breath. "Politics," he lied. "She's homophobic. And I can't be with someone like that. Especially being as close to Robin as I am."
He was lying about her being critical of the wrong friend. But he lied so convincingly, you believed him.
"Well, good riddance."
"Yeah. That's how I view it."
So you watched the rest of the movie in silence. And a small part of you hoped that he would consider you as his next girlfriend, but you were wrong again.
This time, her name was Shelley. And, as much as you hated to admit it, you actually liked her. She was nice to you, both to your face and behind your back, and actually enjoyed spending time with you. She would do your hair and your makeup when she was doing hers, she would paint your nails, she would help you find clothes that looked good on you, and she even helped you find a swimsuit that looked good on you when you told her that you were self-conscious about how you looked.
But what you didn't know was the thoughts that raced through Steve's head when he saw you wearing it. It was a two piece, something you didn't imagine yourself wearing. It was the style of suit from the sixties - flattering push-up top, and high waisted bottoms.
"Doesn't she just look so good?" she asked Steve when you walked out to his backyard to join them in the pool. "I told her she just needed to find her style. It was made for her."
He couldn't take his eyes off of you. This wasn't the first time he'd felt attraction toward you, not even close. He realized he might have feelings for you when he was dating Nancy.
You'd been friends for about two years at that point, and when he invited you to one of his house parties, you agreed. He got drunker than he intended to, and wound up throwing up on himself. Luckily, no one else saw, so you quickly ushered him up to his room.
You helped him get the vomit-covered sweater off, and helped him clean his face off. When he watched you as you wiped the chunks off of his chin, he realized how pretty you were. Eyebrows slightly pinched together, mouth pulled into a tight frown as you focused.
The next morning, that was the only thing he remembered - how pretty you were.
And those feelings never fully went away. He even waited a little while after his breakup with Nancy to start dating again, just in case you showed interest.
But you never did. So he held onto the hope you eventually would, even if it never happened.
Little did he know that you were just too shy, to nervous to make any kind of move on him. He was almost intimidating.
"Steve?" Shelley asked, nudging him on the shoulder.
"Yeah, she looks good. Who knew you'd be the one to convince her to finally get a swimsuit?"
"You should've seen her face when she tried it on."
"You know, I'm glad you guys get along. The last girl, she really wasn't a fan of how close we are."
"Seriously?"
"She was just judgmental. I don't know why I even dated her."
"Well, we all make mistakes. I'm glad she's gone, because that means I get you all to myself."
She pulled him in for a kiss, and you couldn't help but feel a twinge in your chest at that.
But Shelley started to notice how he looked at you when you had your back turned. How he would look at you the way he looked at her.
And eventually, she decided to bring it up.
"Can I ask you something?" she asked as they were in the car on the way back to his house from dinner.
"Sure."
"You won't get mad at me?"
He glanced over at her for a second. "I mean, I don't think I will."
She hesitated. "Do you... have feelings for Y/N?"
His eyes widened. What was he supposed to do? Lie for the sake of his relationship? Tell the truth and possibly lead to a breakup?
"Uh... Why are you asking me this?"
"Come on, Steve. I'm not blind. I see how you look at her."
She wasn't mad. She'd had a feeling there was something going on since they'd started dating.
"Shelley-"
"Just tell me. I'm not angry. I just want to know."
It was then that they pulled into his driveway. He put the car in park before he turned to look at her. He thought for a moment. And he decided to be honest.
"Yes." She nodded. "But I have feelings for you, too."
"But you had feelings for her first."
"But I'm not in a relationship with her." She made a face. "What?"
"Sometimes it feels like you are. And like I'm... I don't know, third wheeling, or something."
He sighed. "Shelley..."
"Look, Steve. You know I like you, and you know I like her. But I think you guys would make a better pair than me and you."
He furrowed his brows. "Seriously?"
"Yeah. I'm not mad or anything. I know you like me. I just want you to be happy, too. And I want her to be happy."
"I don't even know if she feels the same."
"Trust me, Steve. She does."
His eyes lit up. "You think so?"
She nodded. "I noticed how you look at her, but I've also noticed how she looks at you. She's head over heels."
He sighed. "I'm sorry."
"No need to be. We just weren't meant to be."
They looked at each other before she leaned in for one final kiss, both of them smiling before she got out of the car, got into her own, and drove home.
Steve didn't move for a moment. The thought of you possibly liking him back almost had his knees weak. God, it made him feel like a high schooler again.
So when he invited you over for a movie night with complementary vodka shots, you accepted, but didn't drink much. You'd had two shots by the time he had six, and you could tell he was already a bit drunk by how much he was laughing at the movie.
When it ended, he got up and stumbled a bit to the bathroom, coming back after he washed his hands. And when he sat back down, he sat closer than he meant to, leaving less than a foot of space between you two.
You were sitting sideways on the couch, feet under you, elbow on the back of the seat. Without even thinking about it, he propped his elbow on your knee before leaning his head back.
"You alright?" you asked, chuckling to yourself a bit. "You becoming a lightweight?"
"Apparently. It all just hit me right when the movie ended."
"I'm sorry about Shelley," you said, trying to fill the silence.
He sighed. "Yeah."
"Why did you guys break up?"
He lifted his head to look at you. "Just weren't meant to be."
He was a significantly worse liar when he was drunk.
"You're really not gonna tell me the truth?"
He groaned. "It was nothing."
"It was clearly something because she ended things over whatever it was." He just stared at you. "I thought we told each other everything."
Ironic thing to say, but your point stood.
Without another word, he reached up and cupped your face with his right hand, pulling your lips down onto his. You reacted instantly, pulling away and scooting back a few inches.
"Steve..."
He leaned forward and propped his elbows on his knees, rubbing his eye with the heel of his palm.
Silently, you stood up, grabbed your purse, and walked out. You weren't intoxicated anymore as your two shots were within the first half hour of the movie, so you got in your car and drove home.
"Shit," he whispered to himself, deciding to just lay down on the couch and go to sleep.
The two of you didn't speak for about two weeks after that. That wasn't to say you didn't want to. Both of you glared at the phone probably hundreds of times a day, resisting the urge to call each other. But he decided it wasn't his place. If you wanted to talk to him, you would reach out.
And you did want to talk to him. But you had no idea where to go from here.
He was on your route home from work. And one night, you decided to stop by. You didn't go in immediately, instead sitting outside for a bit just staring at the house like an undercover cop.
Steve was home alone. His car was the only one in the driveway.
So you let yourself in. He had a bad habit of forgetting to lock the door, but you had a key regardless.
You approached slowly, seeing that he was sitting in the exact same spot on the couch as last time you were here. When he heard your footsteps, he shot to his feet, awkwardly straightening his shirt.
"Hi," he said softly.
"Hi."
"What are you doing here?"
"We need to talk."
"Yeah. I know."
"Why did you kiss me?"
"Getting right into it, huh?" You didn't answer, just staring at him. "Because I wasn't sober enough to stop myself."
"What does that mean?"
"You know what it means."
You sighed. "Just say it, Steve. You've already kissed me. No point in holding back."
"Okay, you really want to know?"
"Yes!" You walked over to where he was standing. "I want to know why you kissed me."
"Because I've had feelings for you for years!" You didn't answer, just furrowing your brows. Your jaw hung open slightly. "You remember the first party you came to here? When I puked all over myself and you cleaned me up? I wanted to kiss you that night. I planned to. But then I got drunk, and I puked, and I didn't think you'd want me to kiss you with vomit breath." You swallowed the spit in your mouth. "It took me forever to build up the courage, and I ruined it."
"Then why didn't you do it sooner? Why did you date all those girls?"
"Because I was convinced I ruined any chance I had that night."
You shook your head. "You're being mean."
"What?"
"You kissed me because you had just gotten broken up with and you were drunk. And I was the only girl around."
"I don't understand."
"Yeah, neither do I."
"Why do you think I'm lying?"
"Oh, god, look at me, Steve!"
He looked confused. "What about you?"
"I look nothing like any of the girls you've been with. Nothing! I'm not your type."
"I don't have a type."
"Well, you could've fooled me."
"Do you think I dated those girls just because of what they look like? You think I'm that vain?"
"Yes!" You sighed. "Nobody wants to date the fat girl."
"Oh, come on. Don't give me that."
"Give you what?"
"Why would I jeopardize our relationship over a lie? Why would I do that to you? You know me. I'm not a liar. And I'm not mean."
"No. But I think you're lonely, and horny, and you'll take anything."
"I'm not sixteen anymore."
"But you're still a man."
"Why won't you believe me?"
"Because you've never shown an ounce of interest in me before two weeks ago."
"Yes, I have. You just weren't looking."
You chuckled. "You're unbelievable."
"Oh, I'm unbelievable!"
"Yes! And you're mean. I'm not doing this."
"Doing what?"
"Entertaining the idea that you have feelings for me! I'm just the girl who's around."
"You think I don't know how you look at me when my back is turned?"
"What are you talking about?"
"Shelley pointed it out to me. She said you look at me exactly the same way I look at you. So you can bullshit me all you want and say that I'm being mean or lying, but I know you feel the same way."
"Yeah, Steve, I do feel the same. But how am I supposed to think you have even an ounce of feelings for me when you've never shown interest in anyone else who looks like me?"
"It wasn't on purpose! I didn't date them because of their weight. I dated them because I had a connection with them."
"Bullshit. I'm done with this. Goodbye, Steve."
You turned on your heel and walked toward the front door, and he followed you. When you got the door about halfway open, he turned you around, holding you by your upper arms, pushed you against the door, and kissed you. The door closed, and he wrapped his arms around your ribs, holding you close to him.
You didn't hesitate to kiss him back, your hands cupping his face. You practically melted into each other, tongues fighting for dominance. One of his hands slid up between your shoulder blades, pressing your chest into his.
When he pulled away, you had a tear staining your left cheek. He wiped it with his thumb, both of you out of breath.
"What else do I have to do to prove it to you?" he asked softly. "'Cause I can keep kissing you. Or you know, other things." The hand that was still on your waist moved down to your ass, getting a firm grip.
You let out a soft laugh. "I believe you."
"You do?"
You nodded. "Yeah."
"We could move this upstairs. Keep... kissing."
"Mm, is that all?"
"Of course."
Watching you sleep naked in his bed, one leg hiked up so your ass looked extra divine, made him smile. He was tempted to take a photo of you looking so beautiful, but instead he just made sure you were covered up so you wouldn't get cold.
And before he laid down himself, he pressed a kiss to the top of your head.
Hey, about some of the stuff I said earlier, I just… It’s fine, it’s okay. No, just… It’s not okay. Eddie… He saved your life. Our lives. And I know what he meant to you. I can’t even imagine how hard it’s been. But instead of just being there for you, I just… Well, I got angry about it. I guess I got angry because things were different.
steve harrington x reader
word count | 1.9k
warnings | henderson!reader
˗ˏˋ masterlist ˎˊ˗
You hadn't been home from work for five minutes before there was a knock on your bedroom door. You had your shirt off, so you answered with a "One second."
You slipped a tank top over your head and then cleared your throat, walking over to your bed. You sat on the edge, sitting criss-cross facing the door. It opened to reveal your younger brother Dustin, his backpack still on.
"Hey."
"Yeah, hi," he said quickly, as if he had something to hide. "What're you up to?"
Your eyebrows dipped for a second in confusion. "Uh... nothing. Just got home from work. Why? Why are you being weird?"
"Weird? I'm not being weird."
"I beg to differ. What's going on?"
He shook his head. "Nothing. I'm fine."
"Dustin. Seriously. You're making me nervous."
He groaned. "Alright. I'm not supposed to tell you this. It's supposed to be a secret. But I have to. Because it cannot happen."
"What can't happen?"
"Okay. Steve is coming to pick me up right now. We're going to a movie. But the thing is... He's planning on asking you out." Your furrowed brows sprung upward, and your jaw dropped a bit. "I don't know when. Maybe after the movie. But he told me he's gonna do it. And he can't. I tried to talk him out of it, but he won't listen. He likes you."
"Wait, hold up. Even if he does, and even if I was interested, why can't it happen?"
"Because. You're my sister. You can't date Steve."
"Why?"
"Because! It would be weird. It would ruin our dynamic."
"What dynamic? Me third wheeling you and your much older friend to dinner?"
"Yes!"
You tilted your head as if to say 'Really?'
"You have to say no. Please, Y/N."
"Jeez. Fine."
"Thank you," he said exacerbated. "Can I ask you a question?"
"Sure."
"Would you? Say yes? If he asked."
You shrugged. "I dunno. Maybe."
"Soooo... that's a yes, right?"
After a deep breath, you answered, "Yes. I would. He's a nice guy. Treats me different than a lot of guys in Hawkins."
"Well you can't!"
"Jesus, Dustin. Fine. I'll say no. God, you're such a buzzkill."
It was then that there was a knock at the door. He looked at you with wide eyes. "Don't come out there. Just stay here. I'll get him to leave before he can come in."
And with that, he was out of the doorframe and you could hear him insisting they leave right then.
-
It was supposed to be just you and Dustin that night while your mom worked a night shift, but it was kind of nice to have some alone time after work to unwind.
They got home after it got dark, Dustin coming in alone. He gave you a satisfied smile. "I talked him out of it."
"Thanks," you said sarcastically. "Get to bed. It's a school night."
"Yeah, yeah."
When he was in his room with his door closed, the front door quietly pushed open, Steve's head poking in.
"Hey," he said quietly. You adjusted your posture, not expecting to see him tonight."
"Oh. Hey. What are you doing here?"
"Can we talk? Maybe out here?"
After a second of hesitation, you nodded, sliding your slippers on your feet and following him out. It was a bit chilly so you crossed your arms, sitting on the steps outside the front door.
"You need a jacket or something? You have goosebumps."
"Oh, no, I'm fine. I don't mind the cold. Thanks, though."
"Yeah."
Knowing what he was probably going to ask, you acted clueless.
"So what's up?"
"Not much. Just, uh... We've been friends for a while now. You know."
"Mhm."
"Well, I realized I like having you around. A lot. Sometimes it feels like we're missing someone when it's just me and Dustin. And sometimes I wish we could hang out more, you know?"
"Yeah. Me too sometimes."
"Really?"
You nodded. "You're nice to have around, too." This conjured a smile from him. "You're asking to hang out more?"
"Well, kind of. I thought maybe we could hang out... alone... sometime. Y'know. Without Dustin. Just the two of us."
"Without Dustin? Like... as in... a date?"
"Sure. Or... I mean, if you're good with that."
You looked at the door behind you, then back at him. "I have to confess something." He motioned for you to continue. "Dustin told me. That you were planning on doing this." He groaned. "He said I had to say no. That it would ruin our dynamic or something."
"What? You tagging along while we do stuff?"
"That's almost exactly what I said," you chuckled. "Look, Steve, I like you. I do. But I told him I would say no." He looked disappointed. "So, on the record, I said no. But... off the record exists, too."
His eyes lit up. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying... Pick me up Friday. Before eight. That's what time Dustin will be home. We'll figure out what to do then."
"Sounds good," he said, visibly nervous. "I'll see you then. Thursday."
"Calm down, Harrington. It's like you've never asked a girl out or something."
When he looked away to hide his blush, you leaned over and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek before getting to your feet and scurrying back inside.
That's when you were greeted with Dustin, in his pajamas, standing with his arms crossed.
"I thought I told you to get to bed."
"What were you doing?"
"We were talking about the movie you guys saw."
"Is that all?"
"Yep."
"So he didn't ask you out?"
"No. He didn't. I guess you got through to him. Or he just got too scared."
"Probably the second one."
"Yeah, probably."
"You swear he didn't ask you out?"
"Yes. God."
"Good. Now I'll go to bed."
-
Friday night came slowly. And it was torture keeping it secret from Dustin. You told each other everything. So it almost felt like you were betraying him - which was probably what he would think if he found out.
You decided to just wear what you normally wear - a hand-me-down flannel and jeans. It was nothing fancy, but you didn't feel pressure to dress up.
And you were glad you didn't. He wore about what he normally wears too, although he smelled of laundry detergent and dryer sheets as if he put his clothes on immediately after taking them out of the dryer.
"What about your car?" he asked as you got into his.
"I'll just tell him one of my friends picked me up."
He backed out of the driveway and you sped to a local diner for your date. It really did just feel like a hangout, like you didn't even need Dustin there for the energy to be the same. It felt like it was the two of you who'd been friends for so long, not that you met through Dustin.
And it was such a relief. You were used to first dates being awkward, but there wasn't even a hint of that between you. Although you did jokingly insist he pay for dinner, whereas you normally paid for yourself and he covered himself and Dustin. He agreed without arguing, but you did feel a bit bad having him pay.
You got back at around midnight, having just sat in his car and talked for a couple of hours before you realized the time.
When he pulled up to your house, you just looked at each other.
"I'm really glad you said yes," he said softly. "I was worried I'd mess up our friendship or something if you said no."
"You couldn't even if you tried."
You just looked at each other for a few seconds before he leaned over and kissed you. You accepted happily, kissing back and even placing your hand on the side of his face.
He tasted like his dinner, and you were sure you did as well. It was a nice kiss, soft and tentative. His hand nervously cupped your face to mirror yours.
Before you could break the kiss, you heard a voice.
"Seriously?!" yelled Dustin, who stood in front of Steve's car, illuminated by the headlights. Steve basically fell back into his seat, he pulled away so quickly. Dustin had his hands on his hips and you giggled at how immediately nervous Steve got, wiping your mouth with your thumb.
Dustin stormed inside and slammed the front door behind him. Steve looked at you with wide eyes and you grimaced with your teeth, barely able to contain the laugh that wanted to erupt from your chest.
"I guess we should probably go in and talk to him," you suggested.
"Both of us?"
"Yes, you big baby. Come on."
He would never admit it, but you calling him playful names always put butterflies in his stomach.
You knocked three times on Dustin's door, Steve next to you as you leaned your shoulder against the doorframe.
"Dustin? Come on, I know you're not asleep."
"Go away."
"Just let us come in. Please?" You used a tone you knew would work on him.
A few seconds later, you heard a "Fine."
You slid his door open and saw him sitting on the floor, leaning against the side of his bed. He was fixing his walkie talkie, screwdriver in hand.
"You alright?" you asked, Steve following you into the room. You sat on the floor in front of Dustin and motioned for Steve to do the same.
"You swore."
"I know."
"You broke a swear. You never do that."
"I know."
"I begged you to say no. You said you would."
"I know. But Dustin, look... Me and Steve, we like each other. And we're both adults. I don't pretend to be your mom. You shouldn't pretend to be my dad."
He sighed. "I don't want my sister and best friend dating."
"Why not?"
"Because! It's weird."
"Why?"
"It just is. What if I started dating one of your friends?"
"Well, I'd probably ask what happened to Suzie, and then smack my friend for dating my underage brother."
"You know that's not what I mean," he mumbled.
"Is it really that bad? I mean, what if Steve winds up being your brother in law?"
"You had one date and you're thinking of getting married?"
"That's not what I mean, Dustin. I'm just trying to get you to be a little more optimistic."
"Well what if you guys break up? And then we can't all hang out anymore?"
"You don't think it would've been awkward if he asked me out and I'd said no? You were talking earlier about 'ruining the dynamic', but I think that would've ruined it, too." He looked at you like he'd never considered that. "At least right now if we're dating it'll stay the same."
He sighed. "I just don't want what we have to go away."
You reached over and grabbed his hand. "It won't. I swear."
"You swore earlier and broke that."
"Yeah. One time out of, what, hundreds? All I'm asking is that you keep an open mind. Please."
He looked over at Steve, who still looked very nervous.
"No more kissing my sister in front of me."
"Yep. Got it."
Dustin sighed again. "Fine. I'll keep an open mind."
You smiled. "Thank you."
Steve leaned in and stole a quick kiss, making Dustin yell out a "Hey!" You and Steve both chuckled, which even put a small smile on your brother's face.
